


Peripeteia

by mvrvelxus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Not Underage, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter is eighteen, Protective Quentin Beck, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Quentin Beck Is A Good Guy, Rebelious Peter Parker, Superfamily (Marvel), Superhusbands (Marvel), Teen Angst, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-08-20 06:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20223382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvrvelxus/pseuds/mvrvelxus
Summary: Peter has had to live under the overwhelming pressure of being the son of two exceptional men his entire life, so when he finally meets someone who doesn't expect too much from him, he just can't get enough of that freedom.





	1. Prologue

Peter Stark-Rogers isn’t exactly what we could call a morning person. As a senior in high school, he has many responsibilities and preoccupations to attend, like his internship at Stark Industries and his uncertainty about his future, which leaves him with very little time to do homework, work on projects, and a long etcetera, meaning he rarely ever gets to go to sleep early.

The previous night, however, was an exception. His time at SI had been calm and relaxed for the most part, he barely had any homework, and his dad (one of them, anyway), Steve, had cooked dinner.

Hence, Peter is happy he got to go to sleep much earlier than he often did, and so when he shows up in the kitchen with time to spare before having to leave for school, he feels cheerful and full of energy.

“Morning!”

Steve turns around to look at his son and smiles. “Good morning, Pete. Slept well?”

“Yup.” Peter replies, sitting down in the already filled with food table.

“Is that why you look so happy?” Steve asks, taking a seat beside his son. 

Peter shrugs. “I have a good feeling about today.”

Before the blond can reply, Tony storms into the kitchen, already ready to go and looking quite pleased about himself. Even more so than usual.

“Hello, loves.” he pauses to kiss both his husband and his son in the cheek before continuing with his speech, walking around the room. “I have good news. Miss Potts just informed me BARF is a hundred percent ready to be out to the world. Meaning-“

“Oh, please, no.” Petter mutters, feeling his spirits drop.

“-Release party! Love the enthusiasm.” says Tony, pointing at his son. He then looks at Steve expectantly. “Sweetheart?”

Steve sighs.

“When is this release party happening?”

“Today! Ten o’clock, Stark Tower. You can invite whoever you want, except I already did.” He then looks at Peter, as he lists: “Ned, Michelle.” Then back to Steve: “Buck, Nat, Sam. Sharon is, and always will be, banned.” He opens his arms in what is meant to be a sign of success and smiles widely. “Dress as if you were attending the MET gala, am I clear?”

Father and son exchange worry looks, but they agree to Tony’s will regardless.

“Sure.”

“Great! I gotta go supervise some last changes to the project and help with the party arrangements and all that crap, see you later!”

“Have a good day.”

“I spoke too soon.” Peter whines, in a dramatic, distressed manner. Steve chuckles at that.

“Come on, look at the bright side.”

“Which is?”

Steve takes a sip of his coffee, seems to ponder for a second, and then sighs. “Well, there isn’t one _for us_. But your dad is happy about this and we should support him.”

Peter spends the whole breakfast pouting.

* * *

“I can’t believe we’re attending a Stark Industries release party!”

Ned’s enthusiasm at the prospect of the party completely antagonises Peter’s gloomy mood, which MJ notices right away and can’t help but smirk at.

“Yeah, yeah.” says Peter, dismissively. “You may think it sounds fun now, but trust me,it’s going to be _super_ boring.”

“No it won’t! We’ll be in the same party as many icons in the science and tech world! That’s so badass!”

MJ snickers at this, which brings her best friends’ attention to her.

“I bet you nerds are dying to get a glimpse of that Tarantino dude.”

Ned seems to be personally offended that she doesn’t know his name, or at least pretends not to. “His last name is _Beck.”_ he corrects. “And his work is groundbreaking!”

“Whatever. I hope someone from Oscorp is there so I can spit in their faces for their environmental damage.”

“I want to kiss Bruce Banner, will he be there?”

Peter shakes his head disapprovingly.

“Please don’t. Neither of you.” Both his friends look at him quizzically, and he can’t help but sigh before explaining himself. “If you get kicked out I will die of boredom.”

“Come on, dude, stop the drama! Once you’re at the party you’ll never want to leave.”

Ned’s words remind Peter of many of Steve’s speeches attempting to make him have a more positive outlook on parties. If he hadn’t been successful in the two years Peter had been attending SI’s parties, there was no way his best friend would in just one try, but he keeps that fact to himself as to not to break his heart.

* * *

Peter wants to leave ten minutes into the party. There are too many people, and it’s not the usual gang (for the most part), so Peter feels _a tad_ more intimidated than usual. 

He desperately hopes his dads will fade in the background so he can sneak away without them noticing. He won’t leave the building (he doesn’t want to be scolded if his dads found out), but at least he could hide somewhere and maybe read or play something on his phone. Have a bit of fun for a change.

So it seems almost like a personal favour from God herself when Steve walks out into the balcony with his friends and Tony approaches the bar while surrounded by evidently important people, both walking _away_ from Peter.

And he won’t waste such a perfect opportunity.

He glances in the directions of his parents, making sure they’re too entertained to look his way, before making his way through the sea of people as fast and sneakily as possible. Finally, he’s near the elevators area, which is mostly deserted, and when he sees the doors open, he doesn’t think twice before running.

Bad idea.

There’s someone walking out of the elevator, and it seems very likely they’ll crash with him if Peter doesn’t stop running. 

He curses the waxed floors when he slips and, out of pure reflex and survival instinct, extends his arms to find some sort of support. Which he finds in a _very unfortunate_ passing waiter.

But seemingly, the Devil was upset God had favoured Peter, because not only does he cause the food the waiter had been carrying to fall on the just arriving guest’s _very-expensive-looking jacket,_ but he also _still_ crashes into said guest.

“Shit!” Peter murmurs, standing on his feet again as quick as possible. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to.” he mumbles, very frantically, looking at the guest. He turns around, hoping to apologise to the waiter, but he sees him in the distance, walking back into the kitchen. Peter gulps and looks back at the guest. Specifically, his terribly stained jacket. “Let-let me help. Uhhh, how do I- how do I help?”

The guest softly shakes his head, and offers Peter a reassuring smile. 

“Don’t worry. I don’t really like this jacket anyway.”

Then, the _very-attractive_ guest, with the_ very entrancing_ voice, takes off the ruined piece of clothing, and Peter thinks he did the world a favour by throwing that food on him. The black sweater the man is wearing looks too damn good to be hidden by those important-people-uniforms everyone in the party seems to be wearing.

Peter then realises he’s probably been staring too long.

“S-still. I really am sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

The way the man smiles does things to Peter’s heart. 

“Fine. Let me invite you a drink. Just promise you won’t spill it on me.”

Peter blushes immediately, and he really hopes the dull lighting in the area helps conceal that fact. And, just as fast as the rush of excitement flows through his veins, it goes away.

“I-I’m not twenty one.” he admits, barely able to conceal the disappointment in his voice.

To his surprise, the man doesn’t seem to be discouraged by this. Instead, he says, with the most attractive smirk on his face: “Neither am I.” And then, he winks. He. Actually. _Winks._ Peter could melt by how charming that sight was. “So, do you accept?”

Peter pauses to think about it, or at least pretend to do so. He doesn’t want the man to even suspect the effect he’s had on him. 

When he considers he’s been pondering for long enough not to seem too eager, he nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this part! This is my first work in a long time, and my first work in English ever, so I truly hope it wasn't terrible. Of course, the purpose of the prologue was just to let you understand the overall settings of this story, so please don't give up on me yet.  
I would appreciate it if you could comment some observations and constructive criticism so I could improve my writing.  
The first chapter will be up next monday, I hope to count on you then!  
Have a nice week :)


	2. What failure and success look like

As Peter walks behind the man, he looks around seriously hoping neither of his dads are around. He briefly panics when he recalls Tony approaching the bar earlier, but relaxes once he sees the area pretty much deserted.

They take a seat on stools right next to each other, and they quickly order (Peter settles for a plain lemonade). Once they have their drinks in hand, and after the man has taken a quick, curious glance around, he says, if only to break the ice: “I didn’t expect it to be so crowded.”

“It always is.”

The man arches an eyebrow, and only then Peter realises what he’d say. 

_“Always,_ uh? So you come to Stark’s parties often?”

Peter tears his gaze away from the man’s super-handsome face, focusing instead on the glass in his hands. He doesn’t want to see the reaction his explanation may have on the stranger. “He makes me. He’s my dad.”

The man’s face is an open book then, clearly telling the one thought in his mind in that exact moment: _Shit._

It’s lucky Peter wasn’t looking.

Despite the revelation, the man doesn’t really want to just give up on his conversation with Peter. All it takes is a quick shake of his head for him to recover from the shock and smoothly (and maybe a bit reluctantly) shift the conversation to a different tone that he had originally intended.

“You’re Peter Stark-Rogers, then?” The kid nods. “I knew you looked familiar. That reminds me: I haven’t introduced myself. Quentin Beck, at your service.”

Peter shifts to look at him so fast his neck protests. He pays no mind to that. “You’re _the_ Quentin Beck?” The man nods. “You’re the mind behind the latest developments in holographic technology! The mind behind Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing! That’s_ so cool_! Dad showed me some of the early advances in your project and I was so impressed! I wish I could see more before the release, but he says it’s confidential and he shouldn’t be showing it around. Not like I could imitate your technology, you’re a genius! What kind of algorithms-?” 

Suddenly, the sensation of being watched makes Peter shut up, and looks around to find many people nearby staring at him with reprimanding looks in their faces. He feels himself blush. “Sorry.”

Quentin notices the way Peter kinda scrunches down on his seat, trying to hide from the glances, and feels the need to reassure him. “Never apologise for being the smartest person in the room.” Peter smiles softly as his blush intensifies. Quentin offers a comforting smile in return, and decides to pick up the subject so he doesn’t feel uncomfortable. “I’m flattered you’ve found my project so intriguing. Between you and me, Tony didn’t want to support it at first.”

“No way!”

“He said it didn’t seem useful. But then I mentioned I intended for it to have therapeutic purposes, and he changed his mind.”

“I’m so glad he did. Your project could potentially save lives!”

Quentin smiles. Peter’s comments were somehow adorable and insightful. He’s already taking a liking on the kid.

“I’m glad you think that. It’s my life’s work.”

Just as Peter is about to reply to that, a hand falls on Quentin’s shoulder, making both men shift their attention to the intruder.

“Ah, there you are!” Tony says, with a glass on his free hand and a smirk on his face. “I’ve been looking for you all night. Where the hell were you?”

“I arrived a few minutes ago. Sorry, I was gonna look for you, but I got distracted.”

Peter feels a bit mortified that he delayed the man, given his dad was probably waiting for him, but he also feels oddly proud. 

“Oh, you’ve met my kiddo!” says Tony, putting his arm around his son’s shoulders. “Great! He loves your holograms.”

Even if he already told Quentin that, the way his dad says it, as if Peter was obsessed, is truly embarrassing.

“Dad!” he protests.

“How’s he behaving?” Tony asks, completely ignoring his son’s increasing embarrasment. 

Quentin smiles softly then.

“Like an angel.”

Peter can’t help but smile too, and his eyes meet Quentin’s own. 

“That’s my Pete.” Tony states, proudly, while ruffling his son’s hair. He reluctantly tears his gaze away from Quentin’s to make him stop. “Sorry, but I’ll have to take Beck away from you. Oddly enough, _he_ is the man of the night, not me. You can smother him with questions later.”

With a small movement of his head he indicates Quentin to follow him, and the man complies, even if he seems to be doing so regretfully. Peter tries not to think too much about it.

“It was nice meeting you, Peter.”

Quentin winks at him again, and his brain short-circuits for a few seconds.

* * *

“Enjoying yourself?”

Peter turns his back on the New York nocturnal landscape to look at Steve, who has that sympathetic smile he always offers him when he seems distressed at parties.

“I was, but dad ruined it.” Peter complains, frowning slightly. Steve arches an eyebrow, intrigued, so he decides to explain himself: “I met Quentin Beck, and we were talking about his work until dad showed up and took him away.”

Steve laughs lightly, shaking his head fondly.

“Knowing you, you probably charmed him. You’ll get to talk with him again soon enough.”

Peter shrugs, while silently hoping his dad is right.

“What about you? Are you having fun?”

“I prefer smaller events. This is too much for me, I think.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Aren’t your friends here yet?” Peter shakes his head. “Well, you can always come talk with me and my friends, you know they love you.”

And he does. Even if they aren’t the warmest trifecta, Peter knows Nat, Sam and Bucky love him like family. He remembers many times in which they comforted him, drove him to parties, bought him ice-cream, took him to Star Wars’ midnight screenings, and much more. 

But he also knows he’ll feel like a loser if he hangs out with his family the whole evening.

“It’s okay. I’ll just wait for my friends a bit longer. Thanks, though.”

As if on cue, they hear Tony calling out for his husband not too far away. “Hey, Steve! Come here, sweetheart!”

The blond sighs and offers his son an apologetic smile. “Duty calls. Try and have some fun, okay?”

Peter nods as he watches his dad walking away. And then, he sees a certain dreamy blue-eyed brunette wandering in the sea of guests. 

“Quentin!” Peter calls, completely forgetting he’s surrounded by mostly grumpy old people. He notices the annoyed glances thrown his way, and he apologises. “So sorry. I-I’ll shut up.”

Peter turns his attention back in the direction he saw the man before as he gets in front of him, smiling.

“Hey. I just got free from the people your dad introduced me to. I was gonna look for you.”

Peter tries (and fails) not to look to stunned by this fact.

“R-really?”

“Yeah.” Quentin says, mid-chuckle. “I enjoyed being praised. And just talking with you. You’re a smart kid.”

“Than-Thank you. You’re smart too. I mean, of course you are, you created a whole new technology. I just-“

Quentin laughs softly, and slightly raises his hand in an attempt to pause Peter’s incoherent rambling. When it proves effective, they stand in a comfortable silence for a few seconds before Quentin speaks again: “So, Peter, tell me about you.”

“Oh. M-me?” asks Peter, stunned. He didn’t think a man as exceptional as Quentin would be interested in him. “Of course! Of-of course. Uhhhh.” He fidgets with his fingers while he finds something to say. Once he does, he puts on a well-practiced fake enthusiastic smile. “Well, I’m graduating high school in a few months.”

“Are you now?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, congratulations.” says Quentin, slightly raising his glass. “What will you do afterwards?”

Peter deflates at that. He was expecting that question at least once in the evening, but that doesn’t make it much less dreadful.

“I’ve been an intern in Stark Industries for a while now, so I don’t know.” he answered, avoiding the blue eyes as much as he could. “I may still do that if I convince my dads to wait a year so I can figure myself out.”

When silence reigns, Peter is afraid Quentin is just letting the disappointment sink in. He was probably expecting anything slightly more exciting from a Stark-Rogers.

“You don’t want to go to college?”

Peter looks at Quentin. The question was to be expected, but not _that_ tone. That gentle, curious tone, as if he simply wanted to know for the sake of it and not to judge or to know if his kids were gonna have any competition at college.

It’s nice finally facing someone who doesn’t see Peter’s indecision as a weakness, but rather just a surprise.

“I do- did.” Quentin tilts his head slightly, inviting him to elaborate, and Peter blushes at the attention. “I- I have many options, so I’m trying to make up my mind. I have a place in basically any college in the country.”

Quentin chuckles slightly. Not condescending, but tender.

“And you say_ I _am a genius.”

Peter jolts. “You are!”

The man shakes his head. ”I applied for many colleges, but only got accepted in one.” Peter can’t hide the shy smile creeping into his face. Quentin keeps his eyes on him, as if he wanted to read his every thought and feeling only through his facial expressions. “You are even more special than I thought.”

Once again, silence settles between them, but it feels so different than the initial one. It’s still comfortable, but there’s also an added intimacy to it. 

Just when Quentin’s words are starting to make sense in Peter’s head, he hears Tony call for the man: “Beck!”

Peter tries not to smile at the frustration in Quentin’s face. “I gotta go again. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” Peter replies, trying his hardest not to sound too disappointed. “I doubt talking with an eighteen-year-old is as fun as exchanging numbers with CEOs.”

Quentin shrugs. “You’d think that, but you’re not just an eighteen-year-old.” Peter feels himself freeze. “Hopefully we’ll get to talk more later.”

And with that, the man starts walking away from Peter again. 

He feels excitement building up inside him. There was nothing too thrilling about getting compliments on his intellect (he’s the son of two prodigies, after all), but what had been unusual was the fact that the positive comments didn’t cease after Peter’s confession about his future.

Just then, someone stands right in front of Peter, and snaps their fingers in front of his face.

“Oh, hey.” 

“‘Sup.” Ned replies, giving his best friend an odd look. However, he doesn’t mention anything, which Peter is thankful for. “I’m sorry I took so long to get here. My parents didn’t want to let me come.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. You’re here now.”

Ned nods, evidently excited. “So, how are you liking this party? Was I right about you loving it?”

Whatever intentions Peter had of being negative about parties (as always) are quickly dismissed when he spots Quentin in between the crowd, talking with his dads and their friends.

“You know what? Kinda, yeah.”

Ned raises his arm triumphantly. “I told you!”

Peter tears his gaze away from Quentin when the man turns to look in his direction. Had he been staring too long? He hopes the man doesn’t think he’s a creep now.

“Hey, uh, where’s MJ?”

“I think I saw her trying to get Osborn’s attention to call him out on his bullshit, wanna go help her out?”

“Sure. Dad hates that guy.”

* * *

The rest of the night is spent that way, with Peter hanging with MJ and Ned, all while looking around constantly for any signs of a certain Quentin Beck. They make eye contact many times, but the man is always busy networking, so they don’t get a chance to talk again.

It’s a bummer, really.

* * *

Next morning, Peter wakes up to the beautiful sound of his door bursting wide open. When he sits up, wide awake, he sees Steve standing in the doorway.

“Pete, come on, you’ll be late.”

“I’ll be there in a sec.” Peter groans in reply. He feels completely restless. 

His dad merely nods, trying (and failing) to hide his amusement, and leaves him to it.

When Peter shows up in the main door five minutes later, still quite sleepy but wearing something other than pyjamas, Steve is waiting for him with a thermo and a small lunchbox.

“Sorry, I must’ve slept through my alarm.” 

“Don’t worry.” His dad answers, smiling. He then offers the items on his hands to Peter. “Here. Just because you woke up late doesn’t mean you should skip breakfast.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but takes his dad’s food regardless. 

“Thanks, dad. I’ll see you later.”

Steve opens the door for him and waves him goodbye. 

Peter runs towards the familiar black car always waiting for him whenever he leaves a building. “Hi, Happy.” he says, once he’s seated. The car is so comfy and spacious, and he’s feeling so tired, he manoeuvres himself so that he’s laying with his legs over the seat and his back against the door, his head resting on his backpack.

He can hear Happy laugh as he turns on the car.

“Going to school is even more torturous after a night out, uh?”

“Yeah.” he sighs, before closing his eyes with the intention of napping.

Except, he doesn’t. It’s usually not that easy for him to sleep, his mind being as loud as it is. Instead, he starts thinking about college, and life, and Quentin Beck, and about how the later seemed to accept his lack of plans for the former two. 

He briefly wonders if he should just settle for something within his reach, something he’s good at, like tech or science, even if it doesn’t _actually_ make him happy.

Peter can practically feel the lightbulb over his head turn on.

He opens his eyes and turns to look at the driver of the car.

“Uh, Happy?” He receives an acknowledgement hum as an answer. “Do you like what you do?”

“You mean being Tony’s head of security?” Peter nods. “Well... it’s not my dream job. But I don’t hate it neither. It’s kind of exciting.”

“Really?”

“Sure is. You’re an interesting family, formed by interesting individuals. Each day at your service is an adventure. And you don’t treat me like just your head of security.” Peter tries not to let his disappointment show on his face. Based by the lack of change in Happy’s expression, he presumes he succeeded. “Now, eat. Breakfast’s the most important meal of the day.”

Once again, Peter nods, even if he wants to ask more questions. He doesn’t want to make Happy feel like a failure, even if he probably knows that already, deep down. 

Still, he mentally scratches the idea of settling with anything. 

* * *

“Thanks, Happy.”

“Work hard, kid.”

Peter enters the Stark Tower, feeling much more energised than he did in the morning but still with a wandering mind. The combination isn’t that unusual.

He’d talked with MJ and Ned (who were just as tired as he was) during breaks about his conversation with Happy, and they’d pretty much told Peter that he couldn’t judge him based on his own definition of success. To say they were unhelpful was an understatement.

He absentmindedly greets the people he knows as he walks towards the elevator. The place is somewhat crowded, with people going in and out of the building for lunch or from it, so he has to wait a bit for one.

When the elevator’s door finally opens and Peter enters, he pauses. He thought he heard a familiar voice. “Hold the door!” 

Peter rushes to do as he’s told, not out of politeness only, but also because he recognised that voice. 

When Quentin Beck enters the elevator, looking slightly agitated and struggling to hold many papers and a briefcase, Peter feels himself beginning to blush.

The man, who hadn’t even looked up from his hands until that point, seems surprised to see him. “Oh, hi, Peter. Sorry, I didn’t mean to delay you. I’m running kind of late for a meeting, so...” 

Peter wishes he had something to say, he really does, but he can’t find anything. He doesn’t know if it’s the fact that he’s talking to a literal genius who he also happens to have quickly developed a crush on, of just his natural social awkwardness, but it’s mortifying either way. 

And then, he remembers they didn’t get a chance to talk more the previous night, so he asks:

“How-how was the party?”

“I guess it was fun.” Quentin replies, smiling in what seems to be understanding. Peter feels really lucky he hasn’t given up on the conversation. “It’s just I don’t particularly enjoy being the center of attention, so I didn’t love that part. I appreciate what your father did for me, though. What about you? Enjoyed the party?”

“Yeah.”

Quentin stares at him, sceptical. “You’re a terrible liar. Don’t you like parties?” Peter shakes his head, feeling absolutely lame. “That’s unusual for a teen.”

For some reason, the comment makes Peter feel like he has to explain himself.

“I don’t like big crowds. Or talking with strangers.” Quentin arches an eyebrow and makes a mock hurt expression. “I didn’t-didn’t mean _you!_ I enjoyed talking with you! But you were the only one beside my parents and my friends. Since I’m the son of the _genius_ Tony Stark and the _living legend_ Steve Rogers, people tend to expect a lot from me and they’re always asking a lot of questions and-... I’m rambling. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Quentin reassures him, smiling softly. “Has that bothered you for too long?”

“Mhm.”

And then, silence surrounds them. Quentin seems to be thinking about what Peter just said, which, in consequence, means that he’s not going to rescue the conversation this time.

Peter feels like he’s suffocating. His palms are sweaty and cold at the same time, his heart’s beating fast, and his face feels warm. And on top of that, once again, he has no idea what to say. 

_He’s going to think I’m a loser._ Peter thinks, completely bummed. 

“Sorry, which floor are you going to?”

Peter jolts, as he was to immersed in his thoughts. If the situation amuses Quentin, he doesn’t show it. He merely waits for his answer with a neutral yet kind expression.

“Oh, twe-twenty first.”

The elevator starts moving immediately.

“That’s a shame. I’m headed to the seventy sixth.” Quentin says, but Peter doesn’t get a chance to ask what he means before he speaks again. “Do you have plans for lunch tomorrow?” While stunned, Peter shakes his head. “How about we meet at the coffee across the street? I’ve been told only great things about their croissants.”

Peter giggles at the comment, and, if the smile in Quentin’s face is to be trusted, that was exactly the objective. 

And then, it hits him. Quentin just asked him out for lunch. 

Well, maybe _asking him out_ isn’t exactly the right term to use (even if Peter hopes it is), but he did offer they have lunch together.

“Sure. I can meet you at-at three.”

The elevator’s door opens, and Peter realises this is his stop. He feels equally disappointed and relieved.

“It’s settled then.” Quentin says, once Peter looks back at him from the doorway. “See you.”

Peter smiles and waves him goodbye as the door closes.

There were some complications, but he definitely counted that conversation as a success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this chapter!  
Like last time, I'll really appreciate it if you could give me some constructive criticism.  
Just to clarify: if it seems like the main relationship is developing too fast, that's because that is the intention. I love slow-burn fics, but I don't like writing them.  
You can expect the next chapter next Monday, and, once again, I hope you have an amazing week :)


	3. First few secrets and suspicions

Given how much his legs feel like jello, Peter is surprised he is able to walk towards Quentin once he’s spotted him in the restaurant they’d agreed to have lunch at. 

The man smiles when he sees him, and once he’s close enough he stands up to greet him, even if it’s only a friendly shake of hands and a quick half hug.

Then, Quentin signals towards the seat in front of his own, and Peter sits down as smoothly as he can, since his clumsiness and nervousness aren’t a good mix.

“So, how was school?”

“It-It’s was alright.” Peter answers, remembering his conversation about their lunch with his friends. He decides not to elaborate any further into his day, afraid that memory might push his awkwardness even further. “What about work?”

Quentin sighs. “Busy. I’ve been meeting with clients for BARF all morning.” 

In that moment the waiter approaches them. After he’s left, and they’re both looking over the menu, Quentin resumes the conversation: “So, remember what we were talking about in the elevator yesterday?” Peter nods, curiosity kicking in at the mention of a talk he thought forgotten. “Wanna talk a bit more?”

“Well... it’s kinda stupid, really. I-I shouldn’t complain.”

“Why not?” Peter shrugs, but Quentin isn’t having any of that. “Come on, everyone gets to complain once in a while, and something tells me you haven’t recently.”

For a few seconds, Peter considers keeping his complaints to himself, but something about Quentin’s encouragement, and kindness, and his whole self invites him to open up. “I have an internship in Disneyland for nerds,” he starts, looking down to the table “I could attend any college in the country, I have the best parents I could ask for, my friends are amazing... But I...” He looks towards the window, and he can see some people entering the tower. He wonders if they love it more than he does. “I don’t know where to go from there. So when people ask me what’s next for me I freak out and my mind just goes blank.”

When he receives only silence as a reply, Peter looks back at Quentin. The man has a thoughtful expression on his face, as he lightly scratches his beard and eyes him curiously.

“Have you talked about this with your parents?”

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t want to disappoint them.” Quentin frowns, and he tears his gaze away once again. He should’ve known the man would think less of him at some point. So much understanding was too good to be true. “I told you it was stupid.”

“It isn’t.” This time, it’s Peter who frowns, as he looks back at the man in front of him. “So when you say you don’t know where to go from here...?”

“I mean it.”

“Do you know which kind of job you want in the future? That could be a good start.”

Feeling far too ashamed, Peter avoids Quentin’s inquisitive gaze as he answers: “I’m lost.”

Quentin is about to reply, but the waiter arrives to take their orders in that very moment. Peter mentally curses, even if he feels a tiny bit relieved by the interruption.

Once the waiter leaves them again, Peter looks at Quentin expectantly. He must notice, because he offers a kind smile to comfort him a bit before speaking again.

“Do you like photography?” 

Peter’s taken aback by the question, as he doesn’t really see how it relates to the conversation, but he answers regardless.

“I- Well, I don’t hate it. I’ve never tried it seriously.”

Quentin hums, seemingly thoughtful. Before Peter can ask what this is about, the man says: “Well, one of my patients for BARF has a daughter who’s been part of this art academy since she was a child. They are well acquainted with the director. If you want, I could arrange something so you could try their photography workshop, or anything you find interesting, and see how you like it.”

“W-Wha- Really?”

“Yeah. Don’t feel forced to accept though, it was just an idea. And if you do, you aren’t obliged to stay there if you don’t enjoy it. It’d be just so you could test the waters a bit.”

Peter’s at a loss of words, but a single question immediately pops in his mind. “Would you do that for me?”

“I wouldn’t offer it otherwise.” Quentin answers, smiling in a kind yet lightly teasing manner.

“Why?” When the man arches an eyebrow, amused by Peter’s distrust, he rushes to add, if only not to seem ungrateful: “I mean, I-I appreciate it, but it’s kind of unexpected considering we barely know each other.”

Quentin smiles, this time, it’s a slightly sad sort of expression, but remains tender. “You’re bright, sweet and kind. People like you deserve happiness, and one of the many reasons why I started BARF was so I could help people reach that.”

For a brief moment, Peter remains silent, gaping at the angelic man in front of him. Of course, he knew Quentin was a good person (he’d done nothing to prove otherwise), but he didn’t know the extent of his virtues.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything. I haven’t done much yet, anyway. I’ll send you all the information you could need later in the day so you can talk about it with your parents, sounds good?” Peter doesn’t really want to mention anything to his dads, but he nods. Then, the waiter arrives with their food, and Quentin beams up. “Let’s see if this croissants are truly worth the hype.”

* * *

They enter the tower almost an hour later, still talking about anything they can think of. They quickly discovered that there’s no way they’ll get bored so long as they’re together, so the choice of the subject isn’t really that important. 

Everything comes to an end, sadly, as Tony, who’d been waiting for Quentin, spots them. “Beck! Finally. Your team is having trouble with a simulation. Time to be the boss. Floor forty three.”

While reluctantly, Quentin nods. Before he leaves, he turns to Peter. “Duty calls. Thank you for the company.”

Peter smiles shyly, and he waves the man goodbye. He’s so focused on him, he misses his dad’s puzzled expression.

“You had lunch with Beck?”

He turns to Tony, and slightly tilts his head, as he didn’t really hear the question. After his dad repeats himself, he finds himself suddenly feeling nervous about the whole deal. He doesn’t know _what_ it is exactly, but something about Tony’s voice is unsettling.

“We met on coincidence.” Peter lies. “And I was curious about BARF, so...”

“You could ask me anything you want to know. I was involved too, you know?”

“Y-yeah, it’s just-“

“I’m not scolding you, kiddo.” Tony interrupts, as soon as he notices how fidgety Peter’s getting about the whole thing. And even if the situation’s raising some alarms in his mind, he doesn’t want to pass his fears onto his son unless he has a solid reason. “It was just an observation. Come on, let’s get to work.”

* * *

When father and son enter their house, Steve is waiting for them.

“Hello, you two.” he greets, approaching his husband first to kiss him and then ruffling his son’s hair. “About time you showed up.”

“Sorry, honey. We had a lot of work with BARF’s release and all.”

“It’s okay. But I hope you aren’t too tired for movie night.”

Peter beams up at that.

“Never!”

And then he runs off to the living room, in which Steve had already placed many plates and cups filled with snacks and drinks for the evening.

The pair of husbands, however, stays behind. Steve had noticed something odd in Tony’s expression the second he saw him, but he didn’t want to mention anything in front of Peter.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Peter had lunch with Beck today.”

Steve remains silent until he fully understands why Tony said that in such an accusatory tone. He sighs, and tries to calm his husband’s worries: “You might be reading too much into it. Peter was fascinated by Mr. Beck’s work, and he probably asked to meet him so they could talk more about that. It’s no big deal.”

Tony frowns, but seems to consider Steve’s words.

“So you’re saying he’s taking our son under his wing?”

“Probably. Either way, it’s too early to jump into conclusions.”

“It’s the perfect time to prevent anything bad from happening, though.”

“Dads!” Peter calls from the living room, and the both of them exchange looks, fearing their son may have heard anything from the conversation. “Move it or I’ll start the movie without you!”

Both of them exhale in relief, and that's all it takes for Tony to shake off his early worries (at least momentarily).

“Like hell you are, little shit!”

Despite his amusement, Steve scolds, as his husband runs towards the living room: “Language!”

* * *

It’s isn’t until it’s nearly midnight, as he’s laying in bed, pretending to be trying to fall asleep, that Peter receives a message from an unknown number.

_Hey, sorry I’m messaging you so late, Mr. Stacy barely just replied to my email about the studio._

_I’m Quentin, by the way._

Even after he’s saved the contact, Peter waits a few seconds to reply, in an attempt not so seem too eager.

_Hi :)_

_Don’t worry, I can’t sleep anyway._

He sits on his bed as he waits for a reply, seeing the dots that indicate Quentin’s typing.

_Okay, that’s actually not good, but since I have something to tell you: good. _

When Quentin doesn’t immediately type again, probably wanting to let Peter hanging for the sake of suspense (a thought that definitely doesn’t make his stomach feel funny with fondness), he sends:

_???_

In his mind, Peter can clearly see a smug smile in Quentin’s face as he types the next text.

_I can get you a space in the photography workshop I mentioned during lunch._

_So, did you think about it?_

_I did. _

_I wanna try it._

_Okay._

_What did your parents say?_

Peter glances at his door, almost expecting his dads to show up and call him out on his intentions to keep a secret from them. He could lay the idea on the table, but what would they say? One’s a prodigy in science, tech, business. The other’s basically a super soldier, receiver of multiple medals of value, endorser of mental health and overall a model human being. It’s not like potentially having a photographer son, of all things, would make them dance with happiness.

He inhales deeply then, making up his mind.

_They said it’s cool._

_When do I start?_

* * *

The next morning, Peter’s still reading the texts he exchanged with Quentin as he waits for his friends to join him during break at school.

“Does that dumb smile have anything to do with your newest acquaintance?”

Peter looks up from his phone, alarmed, and immediately puts it away. 

As she sits in front of him, with Ned by her side, MJ smiles teasingly. Peter blushes.

“Uhhh, sort of. He’s nice.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but before Peter can ask what that’s about, she says: “Let me guess: he was nice to you even before he knew whose son you are, he listens to you without belittling your problems, he offered to help you asking nothing in return, and, on top of that heart of gold, he’s brilliant.”

Peter frowns, suddenly feeling kinda stupid, even if he isn’t sure why. “Don’t say it like that.”

“You have a crush on him.” MJ says decidedly, and Peter finds himself shaking his head immediately, even if he _knows_ it's true. He's accepted that fact, but he isn't exactly ready to be teased about it.

“N-no. I don’t.”

“You do!”

“No!”

“To be fair, guy’s pretty damn charming.”

“I- No! I don’t have a crush on Quentin Beck!” In that moment, Ned smiles, evidently finding the exchange funny, so Peter asks, if only a bit defensively: _“What?”_

His best friend shrugs.

“I hadn’t seen you this flustered about crushing talk since Liz.”

“It’s different. We’re talking about my dad’s employee. It’s not cool.” 

“It’s New York,” MJ says, the tone of her voice making it seem like she’s explaining science to a very stupid nine-year-old “creepier things have happened.”

Peter blushes intensely at the use of the word _creepy_ to describe his basically nonexistent (ouch) relationship with Quentin.

“MJ!”

“Peter,” Ned interferes, making both of his friends look at him “we’re just glad you’re finally feeling something other than despair again. Let yourself have this.”

Peter decides he won’t try to pretend he doesn’t have a crush on Quentin any more. His friends know him too well, and, if he’s being honest, he’s glad he doesn’t have to hide that from them, even if it means they'll tease him for days on end.

Instead, he voices one of his many concerns in regards of his very unfortunate feelings: “My dads would freak out if they knew, and Quentin would never even _talk_ to me again.”

“So don’t tell them.” MJ says, matter-of-factly. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

When Peter’s about to protest, Ned makes himself be heard once again. “Dude, your parents already think you’ll be tutoring us on Saturdays, when you’ll actually be at an art studio, and Mr. Beck doesn't know _they_ don't know, what’s one more little secret?”

“I guess you’re right.” Peter sighs, as he starts playing with his food. 

Despite it being his decision, Peter suddenly feels guilty about the secrets he just decided to keep. Both aren’t even comparable in magnitude, but they do involve Quentin. He hopes he won’t get the man in trouble, specially after all he’s done for him.

He prays to any deity out there that the situation doesn't escalate too quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who else cried the whole week after news about Spidey leaving the MCU broke? Anyone?  
I have to be honest with you: I really didn't like the way this chapter turned out, however, it is super important, as it kinda lays down the foundations for the plot and most sub-plots I have in mind, so bear with me. I promise the setting stage of the story will be over soon.  
Thank you so much for sticking with me! I promise exciting things will happen <3


	4. Smooth as (cracked) glass

Peter spent the rest of the morning worrying about having lunch with Quentin again. They’d agreed to so they could talk more about the photography workshop, but that isn’t the only reason why he is so nervous about it.

He’s also nervous about keeping a secret from his parents, and from Quentin, and involving him in what could potentially cause trouble when all he wants to do is help. It doesn’t seem fair at all.

So when they meet in the same place they had just the day before, Peter is even more tense than usual.

And, of course, Quentin notices. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Peter answers, way too enthusiastically. Some people look their way, but he tries his hardest to ignore it. “I just need to tell you something.”

“Oh. Well-“

“I didn’t tell my dads about the photography workshop.” 

He said those words so quickly he fears they were not understandable, but the shift in Quentin’s expression tells him otherwise. He doesn’t look angry, but Peter still feels on edge.

“Why?”

It’s a reasonable question, but Peter thinks it sounds accusatory and only a bit reprimanding.

“Because I don’t want to disappoint them unless I absolutely have to. I still don’t even know if I’ll like photography.”

“Pete, I seriously doubt-“

“They’ll think of it as a distraction, with college applications being around the corner and all. Besides, they think I want to work at Stark Industries and inherit the whole thing at some point, and-“

“If that’s the way you want to go with this, I respect that.”

Peter shuts down immediately, surprised by the man’s words. “Really?”

Quentin nods. “It’s definitely risky, and I’d appreciate it if you gave it a second thought, but if that’s how you decide to approach this then I won’t twist your will. I guess it’s no use taking a risk if you’re not sure you’re committing to photography yet. I don’t see how wanting to try out a form of art is embarrassing, though.”

Peter gapes unashamedly for a few seconds before he goes on to explain himself, once Quentin’s words have settled in his mind: “I’m not saying that! I mean, I totally respect artists, but that’s not what anyone expects from me, and more often than not science people think of art people as nothing but idiots. I don’t want my dads to think their son is an idiot, because I’m not.”

A few tense moments go by in complete silence until, contrary to what Peter expected, Quentin laughs. He doesn’t really understand why, but the sound is somewhat soothing to him. He feels some of the tension in his body be released.

“Sorry, I know you weren’t expecting me to laugh.” Quentin apologises, after he calms enough to speak without interruptions. “You’re just adorable.”

The words send a rush of heat to Peter’s cheeks, and he looks away, embarrassed that he’s embarrassed. “Am not.”

Judging by Quentin’s amused smile, and the very evident fact that he’s trying his best not to break into laughter again, Peter concludes that he’s pouting, and so he covers his face with his hands to hide.

Quentin laughs again, and Peter is mortified, but also oddly content.

* * *

Two days later, about ten minutes after Happy dropped him off at Ned’s, Peter gets in Quentin’s car to get to his first day at the art academy. 

The man greets him and immediately gives Peter his camera (that the youngest had reluctantly accepted to lend, since his dads don’t own one and he doesn’t want to give them a reason to be suspicious) so that he can check it out and get familiar with it.

“I don’t really know what most of the functions and buttons do.” Quentin says, after many questions he doesn’t know how to answer about the camera. “I’m sure the teacher, or whoever’s in charge of the photography workshop, won’t mind explaining that stuff to you.”

Peter nods, but almost immediately his nerves get the best of him again. “But what if the teacher isn’t patient enough? Or what if I press a button I’m not supposed to and the camera effing explodes or something?”

_“Explodes?”_ Quentin asks, amused smile on his face. Peter’s too anxious to acknowledge how handsome he looks.

“Yes, explodes! I’m a fuck up, Quentin! I’ll manage to ruin everything and no one will like me and the teacher will be over me in ten seconds and-!”

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Peter looks at the man in surprise. Quentin had never interrupted him so defiantly before, and, while he doesn’t seems angry, he fears his incessant rambling has finally overpowered his seemingly infinite patience. 

“S-sorry.” Peter apologises, looking down to the camera sitting in his lap. He starts fidgeting with it until Quentin gently takes it off his hands. 

He looks up to the man, expecting anything but the tender expression in his face. 

“You’re allowed to mess up as much as you please at first, Pete. You’re new to photography, you said it yourself. No one’s perfect in their first try. It’s through failure that we learn the most.”

“But-“

“You’re afraid you’re gonna make the camera explode? I actually made a room explode with my first attempt at BARF.”

Peter can’t help the way his eyes pop at the revelation, which, judging by the smile in Quentin’s face, is exaggerated. 

However, after the surprise melts away, skepticism finds it’s way in.

“You sure you aren’t just saying that to make me feel better?”

Quentin shakes his head. “To this day I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to turn to dust the simulation room I was using for my experiments. But I kept trying, again and again and again until it turned out okay. Not perfect, but good enough not to be dangerous. Then, I showed it to your dad and miss Potts, and thanks to them and a group of very talented psychologists and engineers, BARF is fully functional. But it was a long way.”

It feels like it’s forever until the camera is placed back in his lap, and Peter wakes up from the trance Quentin’s words had put him in.

And then, he remembers something.

“Wait, the day we met you said BARF is your life’s work. I thought you meant you were really proud, not that it had actually taken your _whole_ adult life!”

Quentin smiles, pleased that Peter’s mind is now busy with something other than self-doubt. “Well, you can’t get it right without getting it wrong a few times beforehand. It’s part of the process.”

And just like that, the perspective of messing up a few times doesn’t seem all that terrifying to Peter anymore. 

He turns to Quentin and smiles widely. “You’re amazing!”

Quentin shrugs, exaggerated cocky smirk on his face. “So I’ve been told.”

Peter laughs, and Quentin looks at him with the softest smile. He blushes as he turns to look out of the window, only to realise they’re parked. 

He turns back to Quentin. “Are we here?”

The man nods. He then checks his watch and looks at Peter in an apologetic manner. “Sorry, Pete, I was hoping I could guide you to your class, but I have to go back to work.”

“Oh, that’s fine. You’ve already done enough for me.”

“Hopefully you’ll find my patient’s daughter so she can guide you in. Her name’s Gwen Stacy, she’s blonde, short, probably wearing blue pointe shoes.”

“How do you know that?” Peter asks, giggling softly at the odd specification.

“She always wears those,” Quentin answers defensively, but laughing along with Peter “and trust me, you can’t miss them.”

“Okay. Okay.” He turns to look at the studio, and then back at Quentin. “I guess I’ll go in, then.”

“Let me get the door for you.”

And while it’s totally unnecessary, Peter lets him. When he steps out of the car, he nervously looks at Quentin, trying to find a way to say goodbye that doesn’t come off as too much or too little.

“Uhhh... Thanks-Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome, Pete.” Quentin answers, ruffling his hair. Peter’s stomach does something funny, but he tries to pay no mind. “Call me when you’re done, okay?” Quentin says, as he walks back to the driver’s side of the car. “I think I’ll be able to pick you up.”

“Oh, that’s n-not necessary. I can just walk or take the subway.” Quentin raises an eyebrow, and Peter physically feels the need to accept. He definitely doesn’t want to be a burden, but he _so_ does want to spend more time with the man. “Fine, I’ll-I’ll call you. Thanks again.”

“Save it for later.” Quentin replies, winking at Peter before getting inside the car.

Peter allows himself a few seconds of death before walking towards the building he’s supposed to take classes at, camera in (very sweaty) hands.

The first thing he does once he’s inside is trying to identify the girl Quentin had mentioned. There are plenty of ballerinas in the hall, though. And a lot of people. How’s Peter supposed to identify the girl? Also, _how’s he supposed to breathe? _

He slowly starts backing off.

_This is a bad idea, this is a bad idea..._

“Careful!”

Peter stops his steps immediately and turns around to apologise, only to realise the girl he was about to bump into is blonde. Hopeful, he looks down to her shoes, and he smiles when he sees she _is_ in fact wearing blue pointe shoes.

“You’re Gwen Stacy!”

The girl nods, looking at Peter with obvious curiosity.

“I am. Have we met?”

“Ye- N-No!” Gwen tilts her head, and Peter tries his best to explain himself. “Uh, someone I know knows your dad and he described you to me so I could find you so you could guide me in here because I- Oh, by _he_ I mean the person I know, not your dad!”

Gwen frowns for a moment, and then laughs. Peter feels so self-conscious he decides to look anywhere but the girl in front of him.

“You’re Mr. Beck’s friend, Peter, right?”

He looks back to her from the plant he had been staring at. Had Quentin referred to him as his _friend?_

Peter can’t help but smile proudly at the thought, nodding.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you.” Gwen says, smiling. Peter already has the feeling they’ll be good friends.

“You too.”

“Here, I’ll show you were you’ll be taking your classes.” Peter follows Gwen close behind, not wanting to either get lost or bump into someone by being distracted. “So, you’re the new kid in photography.”

“I’m just- I’m just trying it out.”

“You’ll love it!” Gwen claims, turning towards Peter as she continues to walk. He doesn’t point out she could accidentally bump against a wall or something, since she probably knows the building better than her own house. “It’s pretty cool. I went to some classes a while ago, but my true passion is in ballet so I quit after a while. What made you feel interested in photography?”

What, indeed.

“It-It’s not- Sorry, I don’t w- I-“

Gwen smiles, entertained by Peter’s rambling. “You do know there’s no right or wrong answer for that question, don’t you?“

“Yeah. Right.” Peter exhales, laughing at his own nervousness. Yep, he’s definitely going to be friends with Gwen. “Sorry. I- I’m not really interested in any particular- Not that I don’t, uh, appreciate arts- Quen- Mr. Beck just offered to get me a spot in the photography workshop, and I thought it was a good idea.”

“Because you won’t be running around in thighs or monologuing?” Peter freezes, guilt escalating inside of him until he gets the joke, then, he smiles. Gwen seems to notice, as she mirrors him. “I guess it’s not easy to explain why things draw us in. To this day I still can’t fully understand why I love ballet so much, but I do.”

“How long have you been a ballet dancer?” 

“About eleven years. Best and worst years of my life.” Then, Gwen stops walking, and turns to the door to her left. “This is it.”

Peter walks until he’s right in front of the door that’s between him and (hopefully) a potential life path.

“Thanks.”

“Have fun.”

And with that, Gwen walks away. Peter looks at her, or at least _her way_, as she does, in hopes of calming down his nerves a bit and clearing his mind.

Then, he opens the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna wait until Monday to post this, but I really liked it and I was dying to know if you would too (Also it's too short for me to make you wait a whole week for it). So, opinions?  
Thanks again for reading my story, and I hope you're having an amazing week <3


	5. Suspecting could bring you closer or farther, depending on who finds out first

Quentin suspects it went well when he sees Peter exiting the building with a bright smile on his face, jumping slightly with every step and holding the camera like a precious trophy.

“Hey.” he greets, once Peter has entered the car. “How did it go?”

“It was great!” Peter immediately answers. “I mean, I did get lost a few times, some stuff is really confusing, but Miss Maximoff was really nice and patient and she found a way to make everything make sense. And I have homework! I don’t know how I’m gonna do it without my dads suspecting anything, but that’s gonna be exciting on its own. Oh, and I met Gwen! I almost bump into her because I was all over the place, but she was super cool about it.” 

Quentin laughs imagining the interaction that went down between Gwen and Peter, two of the most peculiar people he’s met. “I’m glad you had fun.” he says, mimicking Peter’s enthusiastic smile. “So, should I drop you off where I picked you up?”

Peter nods, suddenly looking shy. “Thanks again for everything.”

“It’s nothing. I like driving around anyway, so this is actually you doing _me_ a favour.”

They stay silent for a moment, in which they can hear the radio, the sounds of traffic and the distant singing of a street performer. Somehow, it's relaxing. It almost feels like it's Quentin and Peter against the world, with how strongly they sense each other's prescence despite everything outside reminding them it _isn't_ just them.

Then, Peter speaks, trying to step away from that line of thought.

“Hey, I was wondering...” Quentin hums in acknowledgment. “Since you have a cool camera and all, are you a fan of photography?”

“Not exactly. I only bought it so I could document the progress I made with BARF.”

“So, is there anything other than tech that you like?”

Quentin narrows his eyes as he thinks of Peter’s question, completely unaware of the effect said action has on him.

“Well, I love cooking.” 

“Really?” Peter asks, failing to hide his surprise and sudden rush of attraction for the man. He hopes the later goes unnoticed. “Why don’t you cook some lunch for yourself instead of going out for a bite everyday?”

“I don’t have enough will to wake up earlier than I already do to cook.” Quentin admits, small smile on his lips. “I do make dinner, though. As a treat.”

“What else?” When Quentin looks at him with obvious amusement, Peter feels like he may be a bit _too_ interested in the man’s life. “Sorry. I know I’m being nosy.”

Quentin shakes his head, his usual soft smile creeping on his face. “It’s only fair. I know a lot more about you than you do about me.” Peter returns the smile the man is offering, eyes locked on each other’s, until the light turns green and Quentin has to pay attention to the road again. “I don’t know, I used to love reading, but ever since I started working on the last stage of BARF I don’t have enough energy to focus on anything by the time I get home. With cooking you need a different type of thinking, so I find it relaxing.” Quentin then laughs briefly. “That didn’t make any sense, but you know what I mean, right?”

“I do.” Peter nods, smiling. He’s just happy getting to know Quentin better. “What about movies? Do you watch any?”

“Of course! I love movies.” Quentin answers, suddenly acquiring a certain shine to his eyes that makes his enthusiasm contagious. “I actually considered implementing my idea for special effects in movies before I decided to use it for therapeutic purposes.”

Peter jumps slightly on his seat, turning towards Quentin as much as his seatbelt allows.

“No way! Really?”

“Yeah. But Hollywood is doing fine with their green screens and CGI.”

“What kind of movies do you like?” Peter asks, maybe too quickly, after nodding in agreement with the man.

“I’ll watch mostly everything, but-“ Quentin pauses, looks over at Peter briefly, and then turns his eyes back to the front, tapping his fingers in the wheel. “Okay, this is gonna sound pretentious, but I don’t watch movies that I _know_ are just made for the heck of it, if that makes sense.”

Peter nods in awe. “It does, I feel the same way.” 

So far, he’d only ever met two people who shared his sentiment: MJ and Steve. He feels more and more like Quentin and him are meant to be, even if it’s just his imagination.

“Do you?”

“Yeah! Like, those comedy movies that make no sense at all and don’t have a plot or anything that actually matters and are just dumb jokes all over the place? _Yikes.”_ Quentin laughs, but nods regardless. Then, Peter remembers a _certain_ bunch of movies he loves could fit into the category he just mocked, so he asks, if only a bit hesitantly: “How do you feel about franchises, though?”

“You mean like Star Wars or Jurassic Park?” Peter nods, fidgeting with his seatbelt. “Well, to an extent they’re there just _because,_ at least some sequels, but they also exist because the filmmakers realised the worlds they built were loved by many, so I guess they’re not exactly pointless, are they? They bring people together. A community. I think that’s actually beautiful.” 

When Peter turns to look out the window instead of answering, Quentin doesn’t think much of it at first. He figures Peter saw something interesting. But then, he swears he heard sniffing, and he worries he may have accidentally said something hurtful or rude. He places a hand on the youngest’s shoulder, concern written all over the gesture and the gentle pressure. 

“Pete?”

Ever so slowly (torturously so), he turns to look at Quentin, whose expression of worry deepens upon noticing Peter’s tearful eyes.

“I’ve been bullied most of my life because I love those kind of movies, among other reasons.” Peter explains, trying to keep the happiness in his voice at bay. “It’s nice knowing someone other than my dads or friends who doesn’t think it’s stupid.”

And that’s the thing: Everything about Quentin has been so nice, Peter wishes he could be with him _always,_ and wonders (only a bit worriedly) if life is planning to rip him away from him. 

Because Quentin simply seems too good to be true.

“You know, we should marathon Star Wars some day.” Quentin comments, trying to shift the conversation back to a lighter spirit. He’s happy to see it’s worked when the shine in Peter’s eyes is no longer caused by tears. “I suspect you’re pretty interesting to witness while you watch those.”

Peter crosses his arms, pouting.

“I’m not your clown!”

Then they start planning the marathon, and no long after that, they arrive at Ned’s, right where Quentin had picked Peter up.

Quentin gets out of the car to open the door for Peter, just like he had when they arrived at the academy. “Well, I’ll see you on Monday.” he says, after the youngest steps out of the car. “Have a nice weekend.”

“Thanks. You too.” Peter replies, and takes barely a step towards the building before turning to look back at Quentin. “Uh- Do you thi- Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“What?” Quentin asks, curious. Regardless, Peter shakes his head lightly. “Come on, tell me!”

Peter looks at the man in front of him for a few seconds, wondering if he should risk looking even _more_ childish in his eyes. But then again, he hadn’t judged him when he confessed loving Star Wars (or at all, for that matter), so he feels it’s safe to say just about anything around the man.

“I was just wondering if we could have lunch together again on Monday.” Peter half mumbles, looking down at his shoes. “I would’ve waited to ask you but I don’t know if we’re gonna see each other again before lunch time and I don’t wanna risk-“

“Lunch together on Monday sounds good.” Quentin interrupts. When Peter looks at him, he sees he’s smiling. If his stomach does a backflip at the sight, no one has to know. “Croissant place?”

Peter grimaces theatrically.

“Too much bread.”

“I like bread.” Quentin complains, faking being offended. “What about we just walk around until we find a place we like?”

Peter smiles at the idea, and nods only a tiny bit eagerly. 

“Sounds great.”

Their eyes remain locked on each other’s until the distant sound of Ned calling out for Peter bursts their bubble.

And then, they both remember they have each other's phone numbers. They could've simply _texted_ to talk about their lunch plans.

Then, being completely unaware both are thinking the exact same thing, they hope the other doesn't notice how eager they are to spend more time together, to the point all logic flies out of the window.

* * *

About an hour later, Peter arrives home, driven by Happy this time. He feels so light and happy he swears he could fly if he tried. But he’s not interested in doing so without Quentin.

And he thinks, and maybe _hopes_ a bit, that said man’s car isn’t _really_ parked outside his house. That maybe it is just an illusion caused by the fact that he hadn’t stopped thinking about Quentin since he dropped him off at Ned’s. 

Or maybe since they had lunch together.

Or maybe since they met.

But no. Unfortunately for Peter, the car remains there even after he shifts his thoughts to what he learned in the academy and the fact that he’s still confused about the different kinds of lenses.

He turns to Happy, who seems to sense he has a question and huffs in annoyance.

“Who’s visiting?” Peter asks, trying to sound as casual as he can. Given by the suspicious look in Happy’s eyes, he guesses he still sounded anxious.

“Pepper, Banner, Beck.”

Even if he already knew, deep in his heart, the man was there, the revelation still makes him feel even more nervous.

“B-Beck?” Peter repeats with a slightly high-pitched voice, hoping he heard wrong. Happy nods. “As in _Quentin Beck_?”

“How many Becks do you know? Just out of curiosity.”

“What is he- I mean, why are they here?”

“Apparently they’re trying to decide on some stuff related to BARF.” Happy answers, as he takes the initiative to walk towards the house, since Peter appears to be frozen in place. “They’re taking too many clients for such a raw project, or at least I understood something like that when I went inside earlier.”

Peter nods. As they reach the main door, he feels so much worse. 

“Th-thanks, Happy.”

He enters the house, closes the door behind him, and stays there. 

Should he just run to his room? He can’t risk facing Quentin with his dads around. They would immediately notice his huge crush on the man, and the _last thing_ he wants is being called out on how inappropriate his feelings are.

Okay, running it is.

He looks up and takes off simultaneously, not giving himself enough time to notice the man walking towards him.

Quentin is distracted. He’s checking some last details on a contract he just signed, so he doesn’t even notice Peter until he runs into him.

Out of instinct, Quentin reaches out to grab Peter’s arm, afraid that he might fall. 

Meanwhile, Peter feels like he could scream because of how complicated his feelings are in that very moment. He wishes he could be mad, or frustrated or anything, but he only feels flustered by how close he is to Quentin. 

“Shit, sorry, are you okay?”

Peter blinks in confusion after Quentin lets go of his arm, mostly because the loss of sensation allows him to think again.

“M-me? I ran into you.”

“_Dejavú_.” Quentin says, smiling playfully. Peter forces himself too look away before he swoons too much.

“I’m fine. Thank you. I’m sorry we keep meeting like this.”

“I’m guessing I’ll have to get used to it.” Quentin shrugs. “It’s a personality trait of yours, after all.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but can do nothing about the smile in his lips. Quentin is smiling too, and for a brief moment, it feels like they're floating, gazing into each other's eyes like they're the most marvelous thing in the world and hoping they could stay like that forever.

Unfortunately for them, that kind of tranquility _can't_ actually last forever.

“Hey, kiddo.” Tony greets. Peter likes to think he imagined the suspicion in his eyes. “When did you get home?”

“J-just now.” Peter replies, as Quentin steps even more away from him. He forces himself not to pout. “Uh, Ned and MJ say hi.”

“I like that girl, MJ.” Tony comments, walking towards his son to envelop him in a one-armed hug. “Will you make her my in-law?”

“W- No!” Peter answers, blushing. “She’s my best friend!”

He kinda wishes he could turn to Quentin and explain that he’s in fact _not_ interested at all in MJ that way, but he fears that might cause his dad to know who he _is_ interested in.

“Well, at least you’re not still fixated on Toomes.”

Quentin tilts his head, seemingly curious at the mention of a name anyone with morals had grown to hate.

“Toomes?”

“Yeah, can you believe it? His daughter found a way to my kid’s heart. Luckily for us, she moved far away.”

“Can we not talk about this, dad?” Peter asks, mortified. 

“Sure. Oh, by the way, Steve’s cleaning his office and he could really use some help.”

Peter doesn’t know if he feels annoyed or relieved that he doesn’t get more time to talk with Quentin, even if his dad is present.

“Okay. I’ll-I’ll help him.” He says. Then, he turns to Quentin and does his best (meaning mediocre) not to look too reluctant not to give the man a proper, friendly goodbye. “Uh, bye.”

Quentin mirrors his attempted casualness much more smoothly. “Goodbye, Peter.” 

Still begrudgingly, Peter turns towards the hall that’ll lead him to Steve’s office.

Quentin struggles not looking at him as he walks away. “I’ll send those reports as soon as I get home.” He assures, decidedly keeping his gaze in the direction of his boss.

“You better.” Tony answers. Quentin dismisses the harshness in his voice as his usual playfulness and leaves the house without a second thought on it. 

Which is probably a mistake.

“JARVIS,” Tony calls “tell Steve to come to the living room once Pep and Bruce are gone.”

Because yes, Peter was right about worrying. His dads definitely know him too well. Add that to the fact that Tony has been suspicious since he saw Quentin arrive at the Tower with Peter the day after the release party...

Tony is determined to find out exactly what Quentin has going on with his son and stop it before it’s too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm sorry. I know this chapter was short too. I promise I try my best to make them longer but sometimes if I want to end them a certain way they can't be too long.  
But I swear not all chapters will be so short.  
Again, I'm sorry I made you wait for such a short chapter, and thank you for reading this <3


	6. Quentin finds out

“I’m telling you, Peter acts weird around him.”

Steve shakes his head slowly, dismissing Tony’s worry. The man had exposed his entire conspiracy theory to him, all while pacing around the living room and moving his hands around a bit aggressively, but it just doesn’t make any sense. 

“It’s probably just admiration.”

“I never behaved that way around you when we met!” Tony claims, which causes Steve to arch an eyebrow. Tony sighs. “Okay, I did, but only because I had a crush on you, which is exactly my point!”

Steve stands up from his seat in the sofa and approaches his husband, bringing his nerves-induced pacing to a stop.

“I was just like Peter when I was his age, and I’m telling you, it’s nothing. He’s bubbly around any person he admires.”

“Then how do you explain Quentin, uh?” Tony argues, crossing his arms. “That familiarity isn’t normal.”

“I can’t say. I don’t know him too well. And neither do you, to be fair.” Despite how much he believes he’s right, Tony lowers his arms at his husband’s words. “He seems like a good person, and we should trust that he’s going to respect Peter no matter what.”

And Tony wants to believe that, he really does, but he can’t shut up the alarm that went off on his head.

“I don’t know. Something’s not right, I can feel it in my guts.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, okay?” Steve insists, placing his hands on Tony’s arms and caressing them affectionately with his thumbs. “They barely met, and Peter is just excited to talk with someone whose work he’s admired for a while.”

Tony furrows his eyebrows, still skeptical and unsure about the nature of his son’s relationship with Quentin.

“So this is like a kid with a new toy and Pete’ll be back to normal at some point?”

Steve nods. “I think so.”

His words do nothing to soothe Tony’s worries away, but he decides not to mention anything else to him just yet. 

Steve won’t believe in his suspicions unless he notices something too or Tony shows him some sort of proof (damn you military habits), and he’s determined to find just that.

* * *

On Monday morning, it’s pretty evident to his friends that Peter is cheerful. 

He has a big, cheesy smile on his face and appears to be floating instead of walking.

“Hey, guys!” he greets his best friends, once he’s near them in the hallway.

“Loser.”

“Dude, you gotta tell us the details of your date with _the_ Quentin Beck!” says Ned, straight to the point.

Peter’s smile drops, as he looks around hoping no one heard what his friend just said. Luckily for him, they seem to be as invisible as ever, so he turns his attention back to Ned.

“Could you stop saying his name like that? I know he’s a genius, but he’s also a normal guy- And it’s not a date!”

“Right.” MJ says, sarcastic as ever. Peter is already regretting telling them about Quentin’s invitation.

“We’re just watching movies together!” 

“At his house.”

“Well, we can’t do it at my house.”

MJ smiles, a shadow of malice in the gesture.

“No, you can’t.”

Ned makes a face.

“Ew.”

“What do you-?... Oh my God! MJ!”

Peter blushes as he shakes his head frantically, hoping to completely erase that idea from his friend’s mind and his own. 

“What? Come on, dude is in his thirties. His body has needs. And you, mister prude, are quite the temptation. You are just the right amount of boyish and girly (not like that actually means anything, but you know what I’m saying), you are cute and handsome, fit and slim, your voice is high and masculine. Come on, you’re the best of both worlds.”

“Again, ew.”

“Grow up, Ned. We’re basically adults now.”

“We- I- We aren’t- We are just watching Star Wars!”

“Ever heard of Netflix and Chill?”

Even if he doubts Quentin has a hidden agenda, he still wonders, _what if MJ is right? What if he only invited him to his house so he could...? _

Okay, Peter won’t deny that Quentin is absolutely _breathtaking_ or that he’s fantasised about the two of them being together _like that,_ he’s a teenager, after all. And yes, he possibly wouldn’t mind if Quentin _popped his cherry,_ so to speak, but he’s also decidedly not ready for that. Not just yet, anyway.

So, what will he do if Quentin tries anything? He could say no and hope that’s enough, but if he can’t say no, if at the moment he thinks he’s ready...

“Let’s talk about something else.” Peter blurts out before his mind can wander any further.

“Sure.” MJ shrugs, looking at Peter quizzically before asking: “Do your dads suspect anything?”

The bell rings, and the three of them start walking towards their classroom.

“I’m clear. They’re gonna keep buying I’m tutoring you guys until we graduate. But I’m gonna need to go to different places to take pictures, and I can’t keep using Quentin’s camera forever and I don’t know how I’m gonna trick my parents so they don’t suspect anything when I spend too much money at once. Cameras are super expensive, guys! Why would a camera cost the same as a motorcycle? That makes no sense!”

* * *

Later that day, as he’s having dinner with his parents, who both seem to be in a great mood, Peter decides it’s a good time to ask for permission for whatever’s happening on Saturday. 

Maybe he’ll disguise the truth a bit.

“Hey, dads?” Both of them stop their banter about pasta to look at him. “I was wondering, can I sleepover at Ned’s this Saturday?”

“No.” 

Steve looks at his husband with obvious disapproval.

“Tony.”

“Come on!” Peter insists, low-key desperate. Even if he’s anxious about it, he wants to watch movies with Quentin. “We’ll both be off to college soon and we’ll hardly ever have time to see each other and-“

“Your old man here has a veteran’s reunion on Saturday.” Tony says, grabbing his husband’s hand. “We are attending and showing our support.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Peter irks an eyebrow at the unusual gesture from him.

“Come on, Tony, not even I want to go, and Peter likes parties probably less than I do. It’s fine by me if he stays at Ned’s.”

Peter gives Steve a thankful little smile, then looks at Tony, hopeful.

The man turns to his husband and whispers: “I hate you.” Then, he looks at his son, who seems to be too eager to get a final answer. Tony huffs. “Fine,” he says, with a dismissive hand gesture “permission granted.”

Peter smiles widely. “Thanks! I’ll tell him I’m going.” He says, standing up from his chair and rushing toward the main hall, where he left his backpack. “Be right back!”

The second Peter is out of the room, his parents exchange looks. 

“You don’t believe him.” 

Tony shakes his head.

“I’ll spy on him.”

“You won’t.“

“Why not? You’ll have Nat and Bucky and Sam with you all the time, you won’t even notice I’m not there.” But Steve still doesn’t look the tiniest bit convinced. Tony grunts. “Fine, I’ll send-“

“You won’t send Happy or anyone to spy on our son.” Steve says, imperatively. “I know you want to find out the truth, but we should respect Peter’s privacy.”

“You’re no fun, you know that?” Tony comments, standing up to place his dishes in the sink, where he pauses. Then, he turns around to look at his husband with a flirty sort of shine in his eyes. “Though, looking at the bright side, since Peter won’t be home, we can _go wild _on Saturday, if you know what I mean.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head fondly. “As if you cared either Peter is home or not.”

* * *

The week goes by agonisingly slow for Peter. The fact that MJ kept making sex-related jokes and he kept having lunch with Quentin didn’t help. 

So, he is relieved when he steps in the academy again, ready for yet another class. He hopes it will succeed in keeping his mind quiet for a while just like it did last time.

So, after the class, he’s not feeling as nervous as he did before. Though knowing Quentin is waiting outside _definitely_ doesn’t help.

“Oh, hey Peter!”

The voice interrupts his torturous thoughts, and he looks in the direction of the person who called for him.

“Hi, Gwen!” he greets, walking towards the girl, thankful for the distraction. “I didn’t see you earlier, I thought you weren’t here.”

“I wasn’t. I just came back from a brief visit at Juilliard.”

“You’re attending Juilliard?”

“That’s the dream.” Gwen shrugs, hopeful smile on her face. “What about you? Which college are you attending?”

Peter looks away. So much for a distraction.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, if you’re interested, I’ve been told Juilliard has a great film program.”

And he’s never thought about it before, truth be told, but it would be fun getting to work as a cinematographer. Of course, he barely just started learning about basic photography, but in the best case scenario he definitely sees himself working in movies.

“That would be amazing.” Peter breathes out. Then, once reality dawns upon him, he shakes his head. “But no, my uh... My parents don’t support this, and they’ll be suspicious if I apply for Juilliard.”

“Then NYU! It has a film program too, and you could fool your parents easily by telling you’re applying for nanotech or something.”

Peter feels a spark of hope in his heart.

“Yeah.”

“Anyways, I gotta look for my teacher, good luck!”

Peter wakes up from his stupor at her words. “G-Gwen, wait!” She turns around to face him. “Uh, do you think I could have your number? I-I don’t mean to do anything weird, I promise! It’s just that you’re really nice and cool and I was hoping we could be friends.”

Gwen laughs, amused. “We’ve been friends since we met, Peter. Give it.” He blinks. “Your phone.” 

“Oh, right.”

Peter hands Gwen his phone, and she types her number with a smile on her face.

“Here.” she says, as she hands it back. “Text me whenever you want. You’re nice and cool too.”

And with that, she leaves. 

Now it’s time Peter does too.

* * *

Quentin opens the front door of his house and steps away to let Peter in before him. He looks around, and he’s able to grasp the overall setting of the hallway with the dim light coming from outside.

“Well, this is it.” says Quentin, as he turns on the light. 

Peter thinks the fact that the inside of the house is just as amazing as the outside is a good parallel to the man who inhabits it. Of course, he can’t say that, so instead he says, trying his best to keep a steady voice: “Your house is nice.”

“Thanks.” Quentin replies. “I’ll go get some snacks from the kitchen. Living room’s over there.” He says, signalling towards the first doorframe in the hallway. “Make yourself home.”

“Tha-Thank you.”

Peter walks into the living room and sits down in the evidently comfy sofa. He tries to busy his mind looking around, but he can’t. He is so nervous and eager at the same time, and on top of that, the conversation that he had with Gwen still lingers in the back of his mind.

He tries to push the later away for the time being, though. He’ll deal with one problem at a time.

He immediately looks towards the doorframe when he hears Quentin’s footsteps.

“Hey, I remembered you mentioned Delmar’s sandwiches are your favourite, so I bought one for you earlier when I passed by. Number five, right?”

Peter nods, as he takes the plate the man is offering and places it on his lap.

“Thanks.”

Quentin gives him a smile and starts placing different plates and bowls in the coffee table before them. Then, he walks towards the TV stand.

“So, which Star Wars do you want to watch first?” he asks, as he turns on the TV.

“Uh- You-you choose. I love all Star Wars.”

Quentin turns to look at him with narrowed eyes. The sensation does nothing to help with Peter’s uneasiness, so he shuffles awkwardly in the sofa, trying to get more comfortable. It doesn’t help.

Then, Quentin sighs and goes to seat beside Peter.

“What’s up?” 

“What?” 

Peter internally cringes at how squeaky his voice sounded.

“You’re clearly nervous about something. So, what’s up? Did something happen at the studio?”

Peter feels like he just may tell the truth to Quentin. The man is really kind and understanding, he surely wouldn’t be offended or disgusted by his concern, _right_?

Still, Peter doesn’t exactly want to risk it. Maybe he can pretend nothing’s wrong.

“No. I’m fine.” he says, achieving a small smile.

Quentin shakes his head and crosses his arms as he lays back in the sofa.

“We’ve known each other for a really short period of time, but I can tell something’s on your mind. Come on, you can trust me.”

He could choose to talk about college with Quentin, but he doesn’t want to speak about that just yet, and besides, he feels like he needs to get his worries out of his chest.

And now that he thinks about it, he would really like to know the truth.

So, he inhales deeply and speaks: “I told my friends we were watching Star Wars today and they started saying _things_ that made me feel super nervous about today so I don’t know how to act or feel right now.”

“What did they say?” Quentin asks. Intrigued, not upset. That’s got to be a good sign, right?

“They basically said you don’t really wanna watch movies, that your intentions for me being here are- That you wanted me here for a- for a _different reason_.”

Even with how silent Quentin is after the explanation, Peter can’t bring himself to look at the man. His face feels warm and the expectation is making his hands sweaty and cold at the same time.

“Oh.” And that’s how Peter knows Quentin understands just what he meant. “Woah. No, Pete, that’s not- No.” He says, shaking his head. “I swear to God I didn’t mean anything other than just watch movies. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was trying to trick you into something.”

“You didn’t!” Peter is quick to deny. “It’s just that after my friends said what they said I realised I never give anything we do a second thought and I felt really naive all of a sudden.”

Quentin nods, seemingly thoughtful. Peter hopes he didn’t just ruin his friendship with him, because he doesn’t know what he will do if Quentin starts avoiding him or putting distance between them out of fear he’ll misread his intentions again.

“Why didn’t you cancel if you felt that way?” Quentin asks, concerned. If he’d managed to somehow intimidate Peter into showing up he would feel like the worst person on Earth.

“Because I wanted to spend time with you.”

Quentin smiles, fondness written all over his face, but Peter doesn’t see it. 

“Just for the record,” Peter looks at him, intrigued by the gentleness in his voice “I would never take advantage of you. I promise. I respect and care about you too much for that.”

Peter feels like he can’t breathe. Even if he already _sensed_ the way Quentin thought about him, it’s still too intense for him to process. It makes him feel like he’s the most special person in the world.

“Really?” he asks, just a little bit breathless.

Quentin nods. “Yeah.” 

And Peter isn’t aware, but in Quentin’s mind, he is.

Peter manages a smile for Quentin, the butterflies in his stomach going crazy when he returns the gesture. 

So he tries his best to distract himself from his affections towards Quentin the only way he knows: “Episode Four would be a good start for the marathon.” 

“You got it, Pete.”

He tries to take a bite of the sandwich Quentin had bought for him as the man looks for the movie, but he can’t. He has to say something, because he feels like his affection for Quentin just grew larger than the entire country. Besides, he had been super honest. Peter think he owes him as much in return.

“Q-Quentin?” When those stunning blue eyes are on him, he takes a deep, shaky breath. Then, he says: “I care about you too.”

Not a confession, but it should do. 

Quentin appears to be surprised for a brief moment, but then he smiles. It somehow looks warmer than ever. Peter is sure he could melt.

“That’s good to know.”

Then, he plays the movie.

* * *

Quentin drives Peter to Ned’s house a little before six. It’s really bizarre for his going to sleep when the birds are already singing, but he doesn’t mind. It wouldn’t have been a Star Wars marathon if they’d only watched one movie, and he had taken a nap the day before so he could stay up all night.

“Okay, we’re here. Are your friends waiting for you?”

“Yeah. I messaged them so they’d be ready when I got here.” As usual, Quentin gets out of the car to open the door for Peter. “Thanks for the movies and the snacks and everything.” he says, once he’s in the street as well.

“My pleasure.”

There’s something in Peter’s mind, something he wants to ask, but the sunrise lightning is so beautiful, and the way it somehow seems to increase how handsome Quentin is is really distracting.

After a moment, though, Peter comes back to his senses and realises he’s probably been staring for _too long_. He would stare at the magnetic force of a man that’s right in front of him forever, but that’s not possible. He wishes he could keep this moment in his pocket, somehow.

“Uh, lunch on Monday?” he asks, once he manages to get his brain working again.

“Sure.”

Peter turns towards the building in which his friends are waiting, but then (and he could practically feel a lightning bulb over his head turn on) he remembers: _a photograph could do the trick._

“Hey,” he says, turning back to look at Quentin “I know this is gonna sound really weird and creepy and you can totally say no, but- could I take a picture of you? I need to practice my close-ups because I can’t get them right and I just thought about taking a picture of you because the lightning is good and your face is nice.” Peter pauses. He doesn’t notice Quentin’s amusement, as he’s far too busy being mortified. “God, that’s weird. Sorry.”

Quentin shakes his head.

“Do you want me to pose?”

Peter blinks. Once. Twice. 

He smiles widely. 

“Do whatever you want.” He says, as he opens his backpack in search for the camera. Once he has it, and Quentin seems to be ready, he starts taking pictures. 

And, as he does so, he’s struck by how _freakishly handsome_ Quentin is. Of course, he knew that already, but it’s different when he sees it on a photograph. He’s able to see every detail from up close. He sees exactly where his stubble begins and ends, he sees every scar, every mole. He sees the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, the ones in his forehead, the lines that form in his cheeks when he smiles. They’re a true testament to the honest and open way Quentin lives, so, to Peter, they’re an important part of his beauty.

He notices the blue in his eyes is so intense it’s almost as if they were a wild sea, just before a storm. Peter wouldn’t mind being dragged away by them. Specially because their shine could serve as a lighthouse, a guide. He’s completely safe, and he knows that.

“How did that turn out?” Quentin asks, and Peter looks at him (in real life, not in picture). He returns the camera to his backpack.

“It’s perfect. Thanks.”

“Thank _you._ I’d never been a model before. I hope I did a good job”

“You did.” 

Even if he hadn’t, the outcome would be just as good. You just can’t go wrong with Quentin.

“Goodbye, Pete.”

And suddenly, the bubble of affection that has been developing inside of Peter has grown so much it feels like he could explode. He has to do _something_ about it.

“Goodbye.” Peter says, just before stepping closer to Quentin and standing on his tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek.

But it’s not enough.

So, he kisses his lips.

And as soon as their lips touch, Peter steps away.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I’m just-“ 

Quentin grabs him by the waist and pulls him back close to kiss him. This time, for real.

Peter isn’t a good kisser. At least, he doesn’t think he is. He doesn’t have previous experience, at all, but Quentin does, and it shows. His kiss is so tender yet passionate, and it’s just so good, Peter tries his best to make him feel the same.

When the kiss is over, Peter’s mind is fuzzy, his face is warm, and his stomach feels like he’s in the wildest rollercoaster. 

And Quentin isn’t feeling much different.

_“Wow.”_

“Wow, indeed.” Quentin replies, before giving Peter another quick kiss. Then, he seems thoughtful. “You taste like Doritos.”

Peter giggles, he can’t help it. He’s so happy he could cry.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind. I prefer popcorn, though.”

Without giving it much thought, Peter makes a mental note. And then, something clicks.

“Are you inviting me to the movies?”

“Yeah.”

Peter feels his eyes actually water, but he doesn’t care.

“I thought there was no way in hell you liked me.” 

“How couldn’t I? You’re perfect.” Quentin says, eyes locked on Peter’s, as he caresses his cheek. “So, about that date to the movies-“

“Yes! Yeah, I’d love going to the movies with you.”

And Quentin kisses him again.

Peter wishes it lasted longer.

“Great.”

Much to Peter’s dismay, Quentin lets go of him. He already misses the man’s touch.

Once again, Peter turns towards the building. 

And once again, he turns back to Quentin.

“By the way, you’re a great kisser.”

Quentin smirks, narrowing his eyes at Peter.

“Are you attempting to flirt?”

“No. Maybe.” Peter admits, scratching the back of his head. “Did it work?”

“I don’t know, you’re too cute.”

Peter pouts.

“Asshole.”

“Yours truly.”

They laugh, and it feels so right. Just the both of them, enjoying each other’s company. Kinda flirting, kinda dati-

“So that means we are a thing now?” Peter asks, suddenly realising there’s a missing piece in the puzzle.

“I think we still need to talk in more detail about us,” Quentin sighs, apologetically “but yeah, if you would like that.”

Peter nods, not caring if he seems to eager.

He is.

“I would.”

“That’s settled then. We are a thing.”

_“Sick.”_ Peter exhales, and feels far too mortified when he realises what he just said. “I mean, cool. I mean- Uh, bye.”

He hears Quentin’s laugh as he walks towards the building.

In the blink of an eye, the door is opened and Peter is dragged inside of the building.

“So, did he try anything?” MJ asks. “I can still beat him up.”

“Just so you know, he’s a perfect gentleman.” Peter answers, a sudden wave of protectiveness coming over him. “And he cares too much about me to try something like that.”

His best friends exchange looks.

“How can you be so sure?” 

“He told me.“

Ignoring his friends shocked looks, he starts walking up the stairs.

“Wait, he confessed to you?” Ned asks, grabbing his wrist to stop him. He turns to look at his friends.

“Kinda.” he replies. MJ doesn’t appear to be convinced. “What?”

“That smile is too big for just a confession.”

He hadn’t even realised he was smiling. 

Well, may as well tell them. He was going to, anyway. 

“He kissed me! _Three times!_”

His friends’ jaws drop, and they both say: “_Holy shit!_”

And, in typical MJ fashion, she decides to tease Peter as soon as the initial shock wears off: “You counted them. You’re such a loser.”

“A loser with a boyfriend.”

MJ rolls her eyes at his cockiness, but Ned seems to get even happier.

“You gotta tell us the details!” 

“Yeah, was there tongue?”

“Ew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me pouring all my feelings for Jake Gyllenhaal in this chapter? More likely than you think  
I truly hope you liked this chapter! I was thinking about splitting it in half just like I did with the previous two, but I hate short chapters and I refused to post any more of those  
(Also, if you were wondering, I imagined Quentin's house to be a brownstone. Not like it matters for the overall story, just a fun fact)  
Constructive criticism (and just like any comment at all) is highly appreciated!  
We'll go back to the initial posting schedule, so you can expect next chapter next Monday  
Have a nice week :)


	7. Shooting star or asteroid?

“I say we search for hickeys, and when he’s distracted, we look for condoms in his backpack.”

“Gotta love that trust.”

Tony turns to Natasha, evidently upset. That only amuses her even further. She wishes Bucky and Sam weren’t still passed out from the party the night before so they could help her annoy him. Not like she _needed_ the help, anyway.

“That little shit-“

“The light of your life.”

“-is hiding something from us and I’m gonna get to the bottom of it. Whatever it takes.”

“No.” Steve intervenes, before Nat can make any sarcastic suggestions that Tony would definitely _not_ take with a grain of salt. “We can’t take an invasive approach with this. We’re smarter than that.”

Tony pouts and stomps like a kid throwing a tantrum. He is already frustrated enough about not getting what he wanted from his husband the night before (he _had_ to invite his friends to spend the night), and now this.

He isn’t a big fan of Steve at the moment.

“God, for a war veteran you’re too fucking pacifist.”

“There are better ways to find out the truth.”

Tony makes an indignant kind of gesture. “That son of a bitch-“

“You mean your son?” Nat questions.

“-isn’t talking to us and you want to, what? Spoil him with waffles and orange juice into confession?”

“I just want us to spend a nice Sunday together.” Steve argues, and unfortunately for Tony, the intention is far too adorable for him to stay angry at him. 

Maybe Steve isn’t so bad after all.

“You’re worst than a grandma.” He groans, but Steve is able to read between the lines. 

Aware that his husband is actually the opposite of mad, he smiles and kisses him before walking away to give Natasha more coffee.

A few minutes pass by before Peter arrives, and Tony immediately goes to the door to welcome (rather _inspect)_ him. Steve instantly follows, mostly to keep him in line.

“Good morning.” Peter greets, a big smile on his face and unusual shine in his eyes.

Nat looks away from the newspaper to witness the family reunion with interest. The first thing she notices is Peter is basically _radiating._

So, she decides to point it out.

“You seem happy.”

Peter looks at her, smile growing wider somehow.

“Aunt Nat!” he exclaims, running to hug her. They hadn’t seen each other in a while, and she is definitely his favourite relative, only coming short from May, who is currently living in Italy.

“We feed him. We literally raised him. Yet, she’s the sole owner of his affection.” He hears Tony complain.

“Hey, kiddo.” Nat greets him, as she ruffles his hair. “How was the sleepover?”

“It was amazing.” Peter blurts out, happiness taking over him once again. He realises how weird that sounded when Nat raises an eyebrow. “Really fun.” He corrects. Then, if only to throw the attention away from him, he asks: “How was the party?”

“Great. Damaged men are _great_ at parties, believe it or not.”

Peter tilts his head, amused, yet confused.

“There were many fights.” Tony explains, mirroring Nat’s mischievous smile as he sits down.

“A guy tried to hit another one with a wine bottle, but your pa couldn’t help being the hero.” Nat adds, disappointment all over her voice.

“Old habits die hard.” Steve shrugs, earning a small laugh from Peter. He kisses his son’s head and signals him to sit down.

“It was still fun.” 

Again, Peter laughs. In that very moment, as Tony complains Nat is stealing his man’s attention away from him, he feels happier than he’s ever been.

* * *

That feeling starts fading as Peter’s having lunch with Quentin the next day. It’s not like the man is being cold or distant, but he isn’t exactly warmer or more affectionate.

His nonchalant attitude is a bit hurtful, but he doesn’t think that is Quentin’s intention, so he decides to speak up about it.

“Is everything okay?”

There’s a pause. Quentin places his glass back on the table and looks at Peter for a moment.

Then, he sighs.

“Remember what I mentioned on Saturday? About having to discuss this?”

Peter pauses a second, hoping, _wishing_ he heard wrong, or maybe he had misinterpreted Quentin’s words.

Once it’s evident to him he understood _perfectly,_ he feels a lump form in his throat. 

He wishes he was angry. He’d love nothing but yelling at Quentin for making him feel like he’s on top of the world just to kick him downhill two days later.

Sadly, he only manages to feel crestfallen.

“Are you gonna back off?”

Quentin gives him a small, sad sort of smile. It does nothing to soothe Peter, but he appreciates the gesture.

Even if it makes him like Quentin even more.

“I don’t think so. But you’ve got to understand, I have a lot to lose here. I tried not to let my feelings win over logic ever since I met you-“

Peter’s curiosity gains over his disappointment at that.

“Wait, what do you mean?”

The smile in Quentin’s face seems to light up.

“I offered you a drink, remember? Standard, cliché but effective, way of saying ‘Hey, I think you’re cute, what about we get to know each other?’”

Peter has felt like he’s incredibly lucky since he met Quentin. They may not had have the smoothest meet cute, but it was _perfect._ And in light of his newest discovery, it becomes even better somehow.

He’d had a crush on Quentin the second he saw him, but knowing he’d felt the same way all along made the whole thing really feel like it was meant to be.

Still, as usual, Peter worries it may be too good to be true. 

He considers he may have misinterpreted Quentin’s words, somehow, so he asks: “You-you were flirting with me?”

Quentin tries not to laugh at the cocktail of emotions in Peter’s face. 

“At least I intended to do so.” He shrugs. “But then you said you’re my _boss’ son_, and I realised that if I dared to touch even a single hair of yours he’d fire me and possibly find a way to alienate me from the industry. Tony is an influential man.” Quentin pauses, reflecting on what he just said. _When had his decision go to shit?_ “I didn’t even notice I was still courting you until-“

“So you think my dad will ruin your life for dating me?” Peter asks, skeptical. He knows Tony is known to be dramatic, and also somewhat impulsive, but that just seems excessive.

“He’s very protective of you, Pete. And I understand that, you’re his only son-“

“That’s no excuse! He can’t fire you just because of me!”

“He has enough power to do so.”

The resignation in Quentin’s voice makes Peter frown. 

“So you don’t think I’m worth the risk?”

Quentin seems alarmed at the question. 

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I- God, I hate what I’m gonna say because it makes me feel like I’m an abuser,” The confusion and alarm in Peter’s face increases “but I think it’s best if we keep this a secret for the moment. At least until we figure out how to soften the blow a bit.” Peter looks away, and Quentin mentally curses at himself. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a terrible thing to ask.”

Peter shakes his head softly.

“I was gonna say the same thing.” He admits, looking just as hesitant as Quentin. At least they can be unsure _together._ “My parents will definitely freak out and ground me until I’m a hundred and ten years old, so I agree. We should probably keep this a secret for a while. Which sucks because I kinda want to go to a lot of dates with you, but that’s ought to be a struggle.”

Quentin takes a quick glance around. Once he’s positive no one is looking their way, he grabs Peter’s hand and gives it a quick kiss.

“Let’s do it.” He says, when Peter’s eyes connect with his own. “You’re worth the struggle.”

Yes, that smile is worth _everything._

* * *

“What does that thing do?” Ned asks, when he notices Peter moving the main dial in his camera.

They’ve been in the football field during their whole break: Peter taking pictures, Ned asking about every little thing.

Neither of them mind, really. It’s fun.

“It changes the ISO.”

“What’s the ISO?”

“Light sensitivity.”

“I thought the diaphragm helped with the light.”

“It does, but in a different way. It’s like an umbrella-“

Both friends flinch when someone basically drops themselves beside Peter, expecting some sort of confrontation with Flash, but relax when they see MJ.

“‘Sup, loser.” She greets, looking at Ned. Then, she looks at Peter. “_Lover_.”

He blushes, but hopes the sun helps him disguise it a bit.

“Shut up.”

“Oh, that’s right! You have a date with Mr. Beck today!”

Peter cringes at the mention of his boyfriend that way. It sounds weird and awkward. 

“Stop calling him that.” 

“That’s his name.” MJ argues.

“Just call him Quentin.”

“Peter, I hope you understand I physically cannot do that.” Ned says, looking like he just asked him to murder MJ on the spot. “He’s like a god to me.”

Speaking of, MJ rolls her eyes before poking Peter with her elbow to get back his attention.

“Are we involved in your lie today as well?”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” MJ shrugs.

“We’re glad to help.”

“What are our plans today?”

“We’re going to the movies.” Peter answers, smile on his face. It takes everything in MJ not to make fun of him. “Happy is picking me up at the mall. You’ll already be gone by then.”

“Cool.”

As his friends look over their notes and Peter resumes taking pictures, his last conversation with Gwen manages to sneak up in his mind. Suddenly, he realises he hasn’t talked about the subject with anyone. And he desperately wants to.

“Guys, can I ask you something?”

His best friends exchange looks before nodding.

“Shoot it.”

“Should I apply for NYU?”

“I thought you were gonna wait a year.” Ned says, narrowing his eyes.

“I was.” Not like he had ever actually _talked_ about it with his parents, but that was his plan. It was on his mind, anyway. “But remember Gwen? We were talking about her college plans on Saturday and she kinda gave me the idea. I don’t know, it seems fun.”

MJ seems thoughtful for a moment, then asks: “Film?”

Peter nods.

“Yeah.”

“That would be so cool!”

“You should do it.”

“Really?” Peter asks. There’s no way they could’ve actually thought about it, right? They didn’t even skip a bit before supporting him. He appreciates it, but still...

“Yup.”

“I never even considered it before.” Peter argues, trying to get his friends to understand his concerns about the whole deal.

“Neither photography.” MJ points out. “Life changes, stuff happens, we experiment a few things. It’s fine. If you feel like it’s something you may enjoy, go for it.”

“But we are not talking about a small project here. We’re talking about college. My future.”

“Earth is dying anyway, what do you have to lose?”

“Besides, you’re a natural at this. Your photos are so cool!”

Peter fidgets with his (Quentin’s) camera.

“Thanks, Ned, but I-“

“Come on, give it a try.” MJ insists, offering that rare, warm smile only her two losers can conjure from time to time.

“Yeah. What’s the worse that could happen?”

Peter feels he should _really_ consider the many answers to that question, but the thing is: he doesn’t want to.

It won’t hurt anyone, right?

It’s fine.

That’s what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

* * *

“What’s on your mind?”

Peter looks at Quentin like he had forgotten he was there. 

They’re waiting in line to get some snacks at the movie theatre, and since there was barely anyone there, they indulged in hugging, kissing and hand-holding endlessly.

Peter turned around in Quentin’s arms to face the man.

“Could you drive me to a tech store one of these days to buy a camera?”

“What’s wrong with mine?”

“Oh, nothing! It’s-it’s perfect. I just don’t want to bother you any longer.” 

Quentin smiles, Peter melts.

Even more so when he places a kiss on his forehead.

“Come on, it’s not a bother. I barely used that camera anymore. It’s yours if you want it.”

“Wait, really?” Quentin nods. “How much?”

“I’m not selling it to you. It’s a gift.”

“A gift? What’s the occasion?”

Quentin looks up for a second with an exaggerated thoughtful expression, then looks back at Peter.

“A sunny Tuesday.”

Peter shakes his head in amusement, and (despite still being shy about 

taking the initiative) stands up on his tiptoes to place a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek.

“You’re too nice.”

“And you’re too cute.” Quentin declares, kissing Peter’s nose before looking at the menu in display. “Now, how do you feel about getting nachos?”

“I thought you said you wanted me to taste like popcorn.”

Quentin stares at Peter, fondness shining through.

They share a brief kiss.

“You got me there. Popcorn it is.”

* * *

“Hi, pa!”

Steve looks up from the papers on his hands when he hears the cheerful greeting. 

“Hi, how was the movie?”

“It was okay.” Peter answers, even if the blinding smile on his face tells so much more than just _okay._ “How was the VA meeting?”

“It was okay.”

Even as he smiles, Peter rolls his eyes and goes to hug Steve. Only then, he notices something.

“Hey, where’s dad?”

“He’s still at work. Do you mind if we have dinner when he arrives?”

“It’s fine. I’ll be in my room.”

Peter doesn’t realise this, but Steve _almost_ orders him to stay. No matter how much he wants to do so, he doesn’t.

He’s always thought being too harsh on Peter would do no good, specially with how sensitive he is. His philosophy is quite the antagonist to Tony’s, but they’ve somehow managed to raise their son just fine.

Or so he thought.

Lately, he has been feeling like whatever bond they used to have with Peter was fading. He expected it to happen, sure. His son is eighteen, soon to start college and probably have a serious relationship. It happens, Steve understands that.

What he doesn’t understand is how it could happen so _quickly._

So, he stands up from the stool in the kitchen and takes a deep breath before firmly walking to his son’s room.

He knocks the door as soon as he’s in front of it.

“Pete? Can I come in?”

“Uh, y-yeah, just a sec!” Barely a moment passes before Peter opens the door. His cheeks are flushed and he is evidently trying to conceal a huge smile, but Steve decides not to point it out as he walks inside the room and sit down in the bed. “What’s up?”

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Being straightforward is important, Steve thinks. It’s as close as he can come to being authoritative without feeling like he’s being too harsh. 

He kinda wishes he had Tony with him in that moment to help him just get the truth out of their son.

“What do you mean?”

Steve sighs. He wasn’t expecting Peter to cave immediately, but it’s still frustrating.

“I don’t want to bring this to your dad’s attention because I know he’ll blow it out of proportion, but lately you seem very distant.” When Peter seems to be about to blurt an excuse, he adds: “I know you’re busy and at this age you may not want to be too close with us anymore, but it’s still too sudden.”

“I’ve just been spending time with my friends.” Peter lies. Steve knows this, but he also _knows_ he actually feels guilty about it. He can _see_ it in his son’s eyes.

“Yeah, and then you get home and barely talk to us.” As his son lowers his gaze, he stands up to confort him. He puts his arm around his shoulders and kisses his temple. “Look, Pete, I don’t mind you going out with your friends, but there has to be a balance.”

Peter nods.

“I didn’t even realise I was... I’m sorry.”

Steve manages to give his son a smile. He believes in those words, at least: He thinks his son is sorry.

He just wishes he knew _what_ he’s sorry for.

“Just think about it, alright?”

He breaks contact with Peter and walks towards the door, but his son’s voice stops him.

“Pa? Can you tell me more about your VA meeting?”

Peter’s voice sounds so small and guilty and almost _scared_, Steve wonders just how big his secrets are.

He wishes he could force him to just tell him the truth, but he can’t. So he doesn’t.

But he almost does.

“Sure.” He says, returning to his place in Peter’s bed. His son quickly follows. “Well, this time Buck joined Sam and I...”

* * *

Peter feels like absolute _shit_ the rest of the week. Everyone realises, but luckily for him, no one mentions anything about it. Mostly because it’s _evident_ Peter is struggling with whatever’s making him feel so miserable.

So, they try to comfort him as best as they can.

Quentin kisses and hugs him as often as he can, spoils him more than usual, looks for excuses to compliment him.

Ned and MJ always try to keep him busy, complaining about teachers and Flash and the weather. Talking about Star Wars, wondering if Taylor Swift got married in secret. The usual topics.

His parents always look at him like they’re waiting for him to confess at any second (and yes, he feels incredibly guilty about the hurt look in their faces), but they don’t push him neither. They talk about their jobs, and about how both General Ross and Norman Osborn can _suck a fucking dick_ (in Tony’s very couth words).

Peter is overwhelmed all week, so he’s really looking forward to photography on Saturday.

As expected, he leaves the academy feeling much better than he did before, and when he gets in Quentin’s car, he feels so happy he could dance.

“I have good news!”

Quentin arches an eyebrow at his evident excitement.

“What is it?”

“There’s gonna be an art exhibit this month, and Miss Maximoff said she wants me to participate!”

“Woah, congrats!” Quentin says, placing a kiss on Peter’s cheek. “Are you taking a special photo for the exhibit?”

“I don’t know. Miss Maximoff said I could just give her an old picture I really liked, but I kinda want to try doing something with an exhibit in mind... I know it doesn’t make sense.”

As soon as Quentin notices his spirits drop in the slightest, he tries to bring back the bubbly Peter he fell in lo-

The bubbly Peter he _likes._

Yeah, that.

“No, it does. Will you let me know when that exhibit is happening? I’d love to come and show my support.”

Peter looks at him with pure surprise and happiness.

“Really?” Quentin nods. “Yeah, I-I’ll tell you the date. I think I have a-a pamphlet somewhere, hang on.”

Quentin laughs as Peter looks through his backpack for the pamphlet, and graciously accepts it once he’s found it.

He can feel Peter’s expectant eyes on him as he read the paper. It’s cute, really.

“A month from today.” He reads. “I think I can make it.”

He basically swoons at the way Peter’s whole face seems to light up even more.

“_Cool_.”

Quentin intertwines their fingers, a hand still on the wheel, and keeps on driving silently for a few minutes.

The silence is comfortable, and he knows Peter finds it even _peaceful,_ but Quentin still feels the need to talk when something pops up on his mind.

“Pete?”

“Mhm?” Quentin’s expression must’ve changed, because Peter suddenly looks worried. “Is something wrong?”

Trying his best not to upset his boyfriend before breaking the news, he shakes his head softly.

“I don’t mean to intrude, but will you tell your parents about photography now that it’s serious?” Peter looks away immediately, discomfort evident. Still, Quentin forces himself to insist. He has to. “I mean, you didn’t want to tell them because you weren’t sure you liked photography, but you do, so I think it’s time. Also, I’m not comfortable keeping this secret from them. I know it’s not me who should be-“

“I love photography.” Peter interrupts, voice small but firm. “I do. It- I think I’ve found my path.”

Quentin tilts his head, confused at the hurt in his boyfriend’s voice.

“Well, surely you wanna share the news with your parents.”

Peter shakes his head, doing nothing to help with the confusion Quentin’s feeling. 

He looks out of the window then, almost ashamed.

“They’ll be there then.”

Quentin pauses before answering. He must’ve heard wrong, right?

_Right?_

He wishes he had, at least.

“I’m-I’m sorry, I’m having trouble seeing how that’s a bad thing.”

Peter sighs. He didn’t really expect Quentin to understand right away, not even _he_ does.

But he wishes he could somehow explain everything without having to speak at all.

“If I say I wanna be a photographer my dads are gonna be supportive, I know. But they don’t know about boundaries.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dad will want to buy me a million cameras and lenses and tripods and dollies and equipment that I _don’t_ want or need and pa will give me advice and brag about how good of a photographer I am to all of his friends and they’ll want to hire me.”

And God if saying that out loud doesn’t make him feel even more selfish and stupid than he had been feeling the whole week.

He should be thankful his dads are supportive, he should be thankful they want to be with him on every step on the way.

He wishes he was. It would be much simpler.

“Pete, I’m sorry, I’m failing to see the issue here.”

And somehow, the concern and gentleness in Quentin’s voice make it much worse, because he _shouldn’t_ blame himself for not understanding Peter’s privileged problems. 

But he does, because he’s much _much_ better of a person than Peter could ever possibly be.

And isn’t that just a terrific thought to have after the most bittersweet week.

“Then photography won’t be my thing anymore!” Peter all but yells, all sorts of restraint gone. He has to get this all out. He has to. “I’ll continue to be just the son of the Stark-Rogers marriage! I won’t be able to pave my own way because they’ll be there with high tech mowers and a bunch of good samaritans willing to help. And they will all be expecting too much from me in return.” He hadn’t realised he started crying until Quentin handed him a box of tissues. That’s _amazing._ Cherry on top of the cake. “I’ve been carrying the weight of hundreds of people’s expectations my whole life, I don’t want to do it anymore.”

And just like that, it’s out.

And he can’t stop crying. He fucking can’t.

_Why can’t I stop crying? Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“Hey, shhh, I understand.” Quentin murmurs, carefully wiping Peter’s tears away. He suspects he parked when he noticed he was hiccuping, but he can’t bring himself to check. “I understand you. We’ll continue to keep this a secret.” Quentin seems to hesitate for a second before adding: “I just hope you’re aware that your parents are going to find out sooner or later. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

Peter nods, taking deep breaths and hoping that’ll be enough for him to stop crying.

He wishes he could just stop. Stop _lying,_ stop _hurting,_ stop _crying_.

But he can’t.

And he’s dragged Quentin in too deep, and he knows he won’t just climb back out even if Peter _begs_ him to do so.

He wishes he’d just do it. He wishes Quentin chose honesty over him, even if it seemed cruel at first.

“I just hope it happens later.” Peter whispers. Quentin hears it.

And that’s the olive branch, for now.

“That’s settled then.” Quentin says, as he starts the car again. “Hey, do I have to wear a suit or something of the sort for this exhibit thing?”

Peter nods so effusively he hears his neck protest. He doesn’t care.

“Yes! Yeah, you gotta use a suit, otherwise they won’t let you in.”

It isn’t particularly true, but Quentin doesn’t have to know that.

* * *

Later that day, as he lays in bed, Peter decides to text Gwen to invite her to the exhibit. 

_Hey, I’ve got news_

_So do I!_

Needless to say, Peter’s intrigued. 

_You go first_

As he sees she’s typing, he wonders if it has something to do with college or BARF or-

_We’re having a ballet recital this week, and I want to invite you and Mr. Beck_

_I don’t have his number though, so if you could tell him that’d be awesome_

_I’ve never gone to a recital! We’ll be there :)_

And it’s true, which makes Peter almost jump in excitement. He always wanted to go to a recital, he’d just never really had the opportunity before.

Now that he thinks about it, how didn’t he notice he had a preference for the artistic growing up? He could’ve spared himself some torturous years pretending to be _passionate_ about science and tech when he truly only sees those as hobbies.

He doesn’t get enough time to answer these questions.

_Great! I’ll give you the tickets before your class on Saturday. The recital is at seven_

_Now, your turn_

This time, Peter definitely jumps a bit.

_Right! _

_So_

* * *

“So, will you guys be there?”

“Absolutely!”

“Seems fun.”

“Cool!”

“Will your boyfriend be there?”

“He will.” Peter answers, smiling proudly. He’ll get to show off both his work _and_ his boyfriend all in one day. He’s so looking forward to the exhibit. “And he’ll be wearing a suit.”

“Why?” MJ asks, frowning.

“I told him they wouldn’t let him in otherwise.”

“Do you think you could introduce us?” Ned asks, suddenly looking like Peter just announced he’s best friends with Natalie Portman.

“Yeah, I want to meet the dude. You can’t date him if he doesn’t have my approval.”

“He has mine!”

“Well, not mine.” MJ says, after kicking Ned in the shin. “Not yet, anyway.”

Both Ned and Peter roll their eyes at MJ’s insistent protectiveness, even if they both feel moved by it.

“So, what kind of photo can we expect from you?” Ned asks, when he notices Peter going through his camera roll.

“It’s a surprise. But you’ll love it, I swear!”

Ned and MJ exchange a look.

They _know_ they will.

It’s their Peter they’re talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta be honest with you, I didn’t really love the way this chapter turned out, but I did love some parts of it, and I hope you did too <3  
Now, I want to know what you think of the story so far, so if you could comment whatever you’re thinking about it that would be great. Comments are the greatest motivator, and boy do I need that lately. Just humour me, okay? I'd really appreciate it   
Thank you so much for your support, read you next week <3


	8. An unlikely double agent

“It’s so crowded in here.” Bucky complains after the fifth time having to move his legs aside to let someone walk in. 

Natasha can only roll her eyes at him.

“It’s been worse.”

Bucky sighs, bracing himself for the worst evening of his life, until an idea pops up in his mind.

“You know what? We should go grab a snack before the show starts.”

“Why?”

“Come on, just as a small adventure. This thing won’t start for ten more minutes and I want to have some fun before I die of boredom.”

Nat huffs at the dramatism, but gives in. “Fine.”

Once they’re out of the auditorium, Natasha guides them through the building in search of a vending machine until they reach the main hallway. Then, she stops abruptly, and makes a very-confused Bucky imitate her.

“Is that Peter?”

“What?”

“Yeah, over there.”

Bucky follows her gaze and notices two other people in the barely lit hallway. They must’ve had the same idea as him, because they’re in front of the vending machine. 

One person (Peter, Bucky notices. He’d recognise that impatient fidgeting anywhere) is looking at the other as they get their snacks from the machine. The other person turns in the direction of Peter and Bucky narrows his eyes to recognise them.

“Is that-?”

“Quentin Beck.”

They see the pair exchange some words (they’re able to pick up something along the lines of _‘You want these? Come get them’_), and then Quentin brings the snack out of Peter’s reach. 

Then Peter, their _nephew,_ not _really_ an adult, grabs Quentin by the collar of his jacket and brings him closer to him. The man hugs him by the waist in return, and suddenly they’re kissing. And it’s not entirely _chaste._

“Holy shit.” Bucky breathes. “Do you think Steve knows?”

“Absolutely not. God, I hope he isn’t raping the kid.”

Once they’re done freaking _snogging,_ Quentin hands Peter the snack he got out of the machine. The kid, in return, kisses his cheek and hugs him, content smile on his face.

“They seem pretty happy to me.”

Natasha shakes her head, even if they do seem happy. She knows better than to trust appearances.

“I hate that I want to tell Steve, but-“

“He’d tell Tony and he will flip his shit?” Nat shoves him reprimandingly.

“He has a heart problem, don’t forget about that. Stress and shock aren’t good for him.” She looks back at the pair, who are now merely talking, but still embracing. “Maybe I should talk to Peter.”

“What? No!” Bucky instantly refuses. “He would freak out if he knew we know.”

“He would also freak out if his dad died on the spot when he inevitably finds out.” Nat replies, getting out of Bucky’s grip and walking towards her nephew decidedly. 

When the pair hear footsteps they break apart, looking in the direction of the sound. Peter pales the second he recognises Natasha.

“Hey, kiddo.” she greets, trying to play the good cop. Given by Peter’s horrified expression, she probably isn’t doing a great job.

Good.

“A-Aunt-Aunt Nat.” 

She looks at Quentin then. He is much better at hiding his horror than Peter. “Mr. Beck, is good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Miss Romanoff.” The man replies, once he’s cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well, I used to be a ballet dancer in this academy, so I still come to see performances from time to time.” Nat explains, trying to keep the conversation as friendly as possible before addressing the elephant in the room. That is, of course, until she hears Peter sniffle. “Are you okay, honey?”

Quentin is looking at the kid equally as worried as her, Nat notices. He also seems to be gently caressing his back, but she can’t be sure.

“Please don’t tell my dads.” Peter asks, voice weak and somewhat desperate. “Please.”

Nat frowns at the request (Why would they want to hide their relationship if there wasn’t anything shady going on, after all?). 

That seems to worry Peter even more. He sobs, and in the blink of an eye, Quentin has his arms wrapped around him protectively and caressing his hair gently.

“Shhh, hey, it’s okay.”

Peter shakes his head, and turns back to look at Nat. She’s still confused, very much so, but she also thinks she may have misinterpreted the whole situation.

“I mean it. Please, aunt, if they found out they’d lock me in my room forever and I wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without them or Happy and-“

“Pete, I promise I won’t tell them.” Nat assures him, despite her better judgement. “You have my word. Your secret is safe with me.“ Peter doesn’t seems to really believe her, but he nods weakly and rests his head in Quentin’s chest. That’s when Nat decides to just ask instead of trying to figure out the real nature of the situation. “I’m really sorry if what I’m about to ask is out of line (and I truly hope it is, because I’d hate getting blood on my hands), but is this relationship a hundred percent consensual?” Both Peter and Quentin look at her with the most offended look on their faces. She shrugs. “Better safe than sorry.”

The couple put some distance between them, looking terribly uncomfortable. Nat is sorry she caused that, but she knows she would be even more sorry if it turned out Peter was being abused and she’d done _nothing_ to protect him.

“I understand your concern,” Quentin assures her “but I swear to God I won’t even breathe in Peter’s direction if he doesn’t want me to.”

Even if he does sound genuine, Nat looks at Peter for confirmation. He’s looking at Quentin with this moved expression, which turns back to worry when his eyes lock on hers.

“Quentin would never hurt me, aunt. I promise.”

She inspects his face for a few seconds, looking for any signs of untruthfulness, but it all seems genuine. 

She exhales in relief.

“Please, take good care of him.” She asks (demands), looking at Quentin with such harshness he _knows_ it’s pretty much a threat.

He doesn’t appear to be intimidated.

“I will.”

Hurting Peter was never on his plans, after all.

Then, Nat looks at Peter and starts walking towards him.

“Come here, Magdalena.” She says, opening her arms, inviting him in. He seems relieved as he hugs her. She places a kiss on his temple as she caresses his hair. “Sometimes I forget you’re growing up.” She whispers, lowly enough so that only Peter can hear it. “Well, I’ll go back to my seat.“ She says, as she breaks the hug. “Enjoy the show”

Quentin and Peter watch her as she walks away. They notice Bucky is waiting for her at the end of the hallway, but they try not to worry about it too much. 

They’re not particularly successful.

“Hey, Pete.” Quentin calls, as soon as he notices his boyfriend at the verge of hyperventilating. “Pete, look at me.” He does as he’s told, and Quentin starts caressing his arms gently. “She said she wouldn’t tell, and she will demand the same of your uncle, okay? You gotta trust them.”

“I do.” Peter answers. It’s not a lie, but it isn’t an entirely comforting thought neither.

“Good.” Quentin smiles. “Now, cheer up. You’ve never been to a ballet recital before, right? Isn’t this exciting?”

Peter looks at Quentin with the most thankful glint on his eyes. Just like that, his mind isn’t overwhelming him with the _what if’s_ of the situation.

“Yeah.” Peter nods. “I’ve wanted to see Gwen dance since I met her.”

“Let’s go then.” Quentin says, putting his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “I’ll take you to have dinner afterwards, sound good?”

Peter smiles and places a kiss on Quentin’s cheek.

“Sounds great.”

* * *

“Peter! Mr. Beck!” Gwen greets, waving at the pair.

They approach her as soon as they find her in the sea of ballerinas, teachers family and friends gathered backstage.

“That was amazing!” Peter says, hugging Gwen as soon as they’re close enough. She laughs at his enthusiasm.

“You were brilliant.” Quentin agrees, nodding approvingly.

“Thanks, guys.” 

“Thank you for inviting us.” Peter replies, huge smile on his face. “We had a lot of fun.”

“We’re having a party to celebrate, do you guys wanna come with?”

Before Peter can give a (positive) response, Quentin places a hand on his back as if to ground him and says:

“I should get Peter home, I promised his parents he’d be there by eleven.”

His initial instinct is to act out and complain, but then he remembers that: a) he doesn’t even like parties, and b) Peter _did_ tell his parents he’d be home by eleven. 

He gives Quentin a short thankful look, takes a mental note to give him a proper thank you once they’re alone, and looks at Gwen.

“Have fun, though! You deserve it.”

“That I do.” Gwen agrees, not bothering to hide her smugness. “Thanks, I’ll see you around.” She looks at Quentin then. “It was nice seeing you, Mr. Beck.”

“Tell your parents I said hi.” He answers, before turning to his boyfriend and signalling with his head towards the exit. “Come on, Pete.” 

As they start walking towards the exit, Peter can’t help but look at Quentin, his boyfriend, with the utmost adoration.

The realisation that he trusts this man more than _anyone _suddenly hits him like a train, and he feels a smile creep upon his face.

“What?” Quentin asks, noticing the look on his boyfriend’s face and mimicking his smile.

Peter shakes his head.

“Nothing.” 

_You’re just everything._

* * *

Peter closes the door behind him. He’s too tired after such a long day at his internship to even notice the lack of light in the hallway.

It’s unusual, but not as much as the echoing silence in the house.

“Dads?” 

“Pete?” He hears Steve’s voice coming from somewhere in down the hallway. “I’m in my office.”

Peter leaves his backpack near the main door and walk towards the office. 

He expected his dad to be looking for documents he may need, so when he saw many paintings scattered on the desk he was definitely surprised.

“Whose are these?” he asked, picking one of the paintings up. He think he recognises the house as their lake house, but he could be wrong. He _has_ to be, right?

Steve looks up from the papers on his hands with an amused expression on his face.

“Mine.”

Peter’s eyes open wide.

“I didn’t know you’re a painter.” 

“I’m not. I’m a soldier.” Steve answers, laughing lightly. “But I do enjoy painting from time to time.”

“Are you kidding? These are amazing!” Peter says, looking over all the paintings within his sight. “How come I didn’t know about this?”

“It’s just a hobby, I don’t do this often.”

That’s when a particular painting catches his eye. He picks it up.

“Are these...?

“You and your dad.” Steve says, smiling fondly. “I have many paintings of you two. I was gonna gift some to you when you started college, but I guess I shouldn’t wait that long.” He places the papers on a chair, picks up a portfolio near him and walks up to Peter, who suddenly looks like he’s gonna bawl his eyes out any second. “Just so you know, I’m incredibly proud of everything you are, Pete.”

Steve hands Peter the portfolio, and he accepts it with shaky hands. 

He has to bite his cheek to hold back a sob when Steve kisses his forehead in the most _loving_ way he can.

Peter doesn’t even blink before hugging the man tightly.

“I love you, pa.”

Steve doesn’t like the tone. 

Regretfulness. Fear. Bitterness.

He doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he chooses to answer with the only thing he _does_ know for sure about his son:

“I love you too.”

* * *

Quentin knows something is wrong when more than a whole five minute interlude goes by without any sort of comment from Peter. Not even some mumbling, or at least a sound. Nothing.

He wishes he could hug him right then and there, but they’re walking in a very crowded area of the city and he doesn’t want to risk anyone else finding out about them.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks instead, trying to show all his affection and worry through his voice.

Peter seems to wake up from a dream. He blinks at Quentin before answering.

“I found out pa’s a painter.”

“Really? I never would’ve thought.”

“Me neither.” Peter says, shaking his head softly. Quentin notices his eyes begin to water, but before he can make sure he’s okay, he continues talking. “It- I felt like that brought me closer to him, you know? We’re both artistic people, even if people tend to think of us as something completely different. I kinda wish- I wanted to tell him about photography, but I just couldn’t.” He then stops walking and the look on his face completely breaks Quentin’s heart. “I hate keeping secrets from my parents.”

Quentin takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He has to help Peter ground himself again, he can’t falter.

“I know you do.” He says, trying to sound comforting, before he drops the bomb: “We don’t have to keep hiding anything if you don’t want to. I’ll be with you when you talk with your parents, if you want me to be.”

Peter is tempted to accept the offer at first. How _refreshing_ would it be being able to go around the house taking pictures, and talking about his classes? How fun would it be getting to complain about his boyfriend to his dads, even if there isn’t actually anything to complain about?

But he knows that scenario is far too utopian to be true.

“I- I don’t feel ready to tell them yet.”

Quentin nods, but can’t help the sigh that escapes his mouth. Peter looks at him expectantly.

“Tony asked me about my Saturday.” He explains. “I thought it was a casual sort of conversation, but it got specific. I think he’s onto us.”

The expression in Peter’s face becomes almost unbearably painful for Quentin, but he had to tell him.

It’s important they don’t keep secrets from each other, with how many things they hide from the world.

“He knows?”

“No, he- He has a really strong suspicion.”

They exchange the most awfully worried looks for a few seconds, and then Peter actually starts tearing up.

“Pa will be at DC for the weekend, something to do with SHIELD. Dad could start digging into whatever’s on his mind. Pa always stops him from doing anything too impulsive.”

There it is. A floating sense of _danger._

“Then maybe we should come clean about us.” Quentin comments, deciding that it would be best if they get the first move.

“No!” Peter refuses immediately.

“If he figures he cracked you he’ll stop.” Peter continues shaking his head, tears streaming down his face. Quentin cups his face, people be damned. “Pete- Baby, come on. I understand you want to keep all of this for yourself, but unless you give your dad _something_ he won’t stop.”

Peter keeps shaking his head as he hugs Quentin.

“No.”

And his voice sound so small, so vulnerable.

Quentin doesn’t have it in him to argue.

“Okay.” He agrees, kissing Peter’s head. “Okay.”

They stay like that for a few seconds, just breathing each other in, and then Peter pulls away just enough to face Quentin.

“You called me _baby.”_ he says, matter-of-factly.

Quentin freezes for a second. He hadn’t even realised the term slipped. He looks at his boyfriend, trying to figure out if he’s upset or offended or-

Peter giggles and kisses his cheek.

“Could you call me that more often?”

Quentin smiles and presses a kiss to Peter’s lips to close the deal.

* * *

Tony’s home before Peter on Friday night. 

Peter isn’t surprised. Whenever Steve has to leave, Tony prefers hanging around the house more often than usual to be there in case their son needs anything. 

The thought fills Peter with guilt, but he does his best not to show it.

He hates the fact that he’s gotten better at that lately.

“Hey, dad.” he greets, taking off his jacket.

“Hi, honey.”

“How was work?”

“It was okay. Can you come here a sec?”

Peter frowns at the sudden request, and his previous conversation with Quentin plays on his mind. Could his dad possibly want to talk about...?

He gulps.

“Sure.” He says, and goes to sit beside his dad in the sofa. “What is it?”

“I want to tell you something.” Tony announces. There’s a certain darkness in his eyes Peter has never seen before, but he doesn’t get the time to think about what that could mean. “This isn’t something I’m proud of. It’s my biggest regret, actually, but... I think I should have told you ages ago, specially given how much you hang around the tower since forever.”

Peter frowns.

“What is it?”

“I dated an employee of my old man at some point.” Tony says, eyes never leaving Peter’s face, hoping to catch something that tells him _anything._ “Obadiah Stane. Dude was charming, nice, considerate. Or so I thought. I was eighteen, just like you are, and he was in his thirties.” _Just like Beck._ “Stane was perfectly aware of the power and experience imbalance in our so-called _relationship,_ and he took advantage of it. He manipulated, abused and tricked me until I couldn’t handle it anymore.” Other than Peter’s eyes watering, there aren’t any major changes in his expression. “Long story short, I also happened to become acquainted with drugs around that time and I wouldn’t be alive today if not because Steve found me in an alley at the edge of overdosing.” _Still nothing._ Tony keeps pushing. “Worst part? Howard either didn’t know, or didn’t give a shit, because he never said a word about it. Stane kept working for him until I inherited Stark Industries and fired him on the spot.“

Tony pauses, and silence wraps them like the coldest blanket ever. 

Peter feels like his dad’s eyes are tearing apart his expression piece by piece, trying to figure something out, and he tries to distract him by talking.

“I-I didn’t-“

“You didn’t think I wanted to talk about something like that? Of course you didn’t. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while, but I didn’t want to scare you because of your internship, and yada yada. But I recently figured listening to the story couldn’t hurt more than going through it. I’m actually sparing you some pain here. You’re welcome.”

Peter nods, while feeling his stomach basically _convulse_ at his dad’s words. 

He must think Quentin is like that Stane dude. He is _so wrong_.

If anything, Quentin is just like Steve: sweet, patient, caring, selfless, honest. He wishes he could tell that to his dad, ease his worry. But he _can't._

Tony sees a shift in the stoic face of his son. _Bingo._

“I’m really sorry you lived something like that.” 

“Yeah, it wasn’t nice. So, I want to break the cycle.” _There it is_, Peter thinks. “I won’t turn a blind eye the way my father did. Tell me, has anyone at SI ever touched you?”

Then there’s definitely a change in Peter’s face: He looks _horrified._

“No.”

Tony isn’t buying it. Maybe he should rephrase it.

“Has anyone ever tried to?” Peter shakes his head, looking increasingly sickened. “Has anyone ever been too friendly, uncomfortably so?” Tony sighs, frustrated, when his son shakes his head again. “Pete, I need you to tell me truth.”

“I am!”

“You’re not!” Tony all but yells, finally losing his patience. He’s trying to help his son, but he can’t do anything if the freaking kid doesn’t cooperate. “I know something’s up, I know it has to do with someone at Stark Industries. I want to help you. Let me help you!”

Peter stands up.

_“I don’t want the internship!”_

A beat of silence. 

Tony stands up as well.

“What?”

Peter looks away as he repeats himself.

“I-I don’t want the internship.”

“Great, I thought I heard you wrong. If no one’s molesting you, then why the fuck are you giving up your internship?”

“Because I never wanted it in the first place!” Peter admits. He feels equally mortified and relieved at finally revealing one of _many_ secrets. “I-I don’t love tech as much as you do. It’s interesting and exciting and fun, but I don’t want that for my life.”

And for the first time for longer than Peter can remember, he sees his dad’s eyes water.

“You really won’t tell me the truth?” Tony asks, all sorts of defeat in his voice.

“That _is_ the truth, dad.” Peter says. Tony shakes his head and walks out of the living room. Peter follows him. “Where are you going?” He’s ignored. “Dad. Dad!”

Tony turns around to face his son.

The hurt in his face makes Peter’s heart feel like he's suffocating.

“Do your homework.” Tony orders, stone-cold. “I’ll be busy, so don’t bother me.”

“Dad, please listen to me.” Peter asks, following Tony until he walks down to his lab and locks the door behind him. “JARVIS, can you let me in?”

“Sorry, young master. I was ordered not to.”

Peter closes his eyes, hoping to stop the tears in his eyes from rolling down his cheeks.

He wishes he could tell Tony what is going on, what has been happening for months, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

He walks towards his room and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t expect his dad to even try to talk to him, but it’s an old habit.

Besides, for the first time, the thought of his dad nosing around his room is somewhat comforting.

When he unceremoniously sits on his bed, he hears the sound of something falling on the floor.

It’s the portfolio Steve had given him earlier that week, he notices.

He picks it up and starts going through the many stunning paintings absentmindedly. His eyes are too watery for him to be able to actually _see_ anything.

That is until he notices a family portrait of sorts.

He gives up on controlling his crying when he realises he’s looking at an ethereal painting of Tony with baby Peter on his arms, bright smile on his face, surrounded by some sort of halo formed by the light coming from a window.

Peter closes the portfolio and hugs it close to his chest, hiccuping without restraint.

He knows they could still be like that, all love and happiness and light, but he _had_ to ruin it.

* * *

Quentin knows something isn’t right the second he sees Peter. His eyes are red and puffy, and he seems to be exhausted. 

“Are you okay?” Quentin asks, after he greets Peter with a kiss.

“Yeah.” 

“Are you sure?”

Peter smiles softly, but the gesture makes his eyes seem watery. 

“I’m just tired. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

Quentin nods, even if he absolutely doesn’t believe a word he just said, and opens the door of his car for Peter.

“You should nap on our way to the academy.”

Peter gets in the car and Quentin sees him inhale deeply. 

He gets in the car and starts driving.

“I’ll be fine.” Peter says, after blue eyes look at him reprehensibly for the hundredth time in the brief trip. “I’ll just go to sleep earlier today.”

Quentin nods slowly, narrowing his eyes. Peter looks away and crosses his arms.

Quentin isn’t having any of that.

He parks in the first available spot he sees.

Peter looks at him, frowning.

“What are you-?”

“I hate seeing you this down.” Quentin says, trying to keep his tone neutral, even if he’s worried and frustrated that Peter won’t tell him what happened. “You’re obviously upset about something. What’s up?”

Peter shakes his head, laughing without the slightest bit of humour, until he slowly starts crying.

Quentin reaches out for him, hugging him as comfortingly as their seats allow him.

“My dad and I fought last night.” Peter cries. “It was bad. He avoided me the whole morning.”

Quentin frowns.

“What did you fight about?”

Peter tries his best to think of something to say. He won’t tell him about Tony’s evident attempt at trying to get Peter to talk about him and Quentin (that’s ought to scare the man away). He can't handle having another loved one hate him.

Reluctantly, he only answers with half the truth: “I told him I want to quit the internship. He didn’t like that.”

Quentin sighs, and leans down to kiss the tears in Peter’s cheeks away.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Peter smiles. It’s still sad, but there’s a bit of hope in it, so Quentin accepts it.

“Just being you is enough.”

_God..._

Both move at the same time, joining their lips and moving them in sync. Peter thinks he’s kinda sloppy and awkward, but Quentin loves that. He loves having a front seat in Peter's growth and improvement, in any and all contexts.

That is, until they break the kiss. 

“Okay, as much as I’d enjoy continuing with this encounter,” Quentin says, after a quick glance at the clock “you’ll be late if we keep this going. Let’s go.”

He starts the car, but Peter places his hand on top of his.

Kissing seems to be the only thing keeping him from thinking, and he feels like he really needs those moments of nothingness.

“One last kiss.” He demands. Quentin tilts his head. Peter pouts. “Please?”

Quentin laughs, amused, and leans to press a kiss on Peter’s lips. He can feel his boyfriend parting his lips in hopes of deepening it again, but he pulls away.

“Let’s go.”

Peter sticks his tongue out, and Quentin shakes his head, fondness all over his face.

They were both so busy with their worries, they didn’t notice a black car that had been following them since Quentin picked Peter up at Ned’s.

“They’re in the move again. Should I follow them?” Happy asks, but gets no response. He looks at his phone, afraid he cut the FaceTime conversation again on accident, but he sees Tony on the screen, so he calls: “Boss?”

“Oh, uh, yes. Sorry, no. Uh-“ Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. He _can’t_ believe what he just watched. “You can come back now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just drop it.”

Tony ends the call with shaky hands.

His immediate instinct, after indulging in some seconds of raw _shock,_ is to throw his phone across the room.

Then his cup of coffee.

Then his plate.

And when there’s nothing left to throw, he flips the table, followed by the chair he was sitting in.

Then, he flops down on the floor. 

Looking at the mess in front of him, he feels like an utter failure.

Then, he wonders if maybe Howard did try to do something about Stane.

Maybe it didn’t work either.

Maybe this is just history repeating itself.

Or maybe Tony doomed Peter the second he carried him in his arms for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fall out is getting closer and closer. I'm so excited for you to read it!  
So, what did you think about this chapter? Any and all constructive criticism is more than welcome <3


	9. Keep your feet on the ground

“What are we gonna do about Peter?”

Steve looks at his husband like he forgot he was there. It’s likely, considering they’d been in complete silence for the better part of their dinner.

“I don’t know.” He sighs, moving his glass from one side of his plate to the other, just for the sake of doing something.

Tony snorts. “The man with a plan _doesn’t_ have a plan? We’re screwed.”

And Steve won’t say it out loud, but he’s starting to think they are. 

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he came back to New York merely three days after he left, but it wasn’t the news that Tony had told Peter about his backstory in hopes of getting some confession out of him. He also didn’t expect to hear that Peter had given up on his internship.

And he absolutely, _definitely_ didn’t expect to find out that he was coming back to a broken home, in which father and son aren’t on speaking terms.

Steve had tried to talk some sense into Tony the night of his arrival. Convince him to give Peter at least a half-hearted apology.

He shut up when Tony showed him what he had seen when he sent Happy to follow Peter’s tail the day after their argument.

And now, it’s been a month. Nothing has changed, and Steve has no idea what to do.

“This is too complicated. I don’t even know how it got this bad. A month ago he was a bit distant, now he barely talks to us.” Steve feels the nagging, crushing guilt he knows all too well beginning to set on his chest. He tries to ignore it as he continues speaking. “When I gave him my paintings I was hoping that would bring back some memories, or maybe make him feel close to us again. Seems like I only pushed him further away.”

“I tried being straightforward and it didn’t work either.” Tony notes, clenching his jaw. “Did we run out of options?”

Steve hates the hopelessness in his husbands voice. But, more than anything, he hates that this time he has absolutely no idea what to do to make him feel better.

* * *

In the meantime, Peter’s at the academy, waiting for his guests to arrive at the exhibit.

Gwen had been with him at some point, but she knows most people in the academy, so she keeps walking around greeting people and complimenting works.

Peter looks at his photograph for what feels like the millionth time. He hates it. The shadow didn’t turn out the way he wanted it to, but he had already asked Gwen to pose for over an hour and he didn’t want her to hate him, even if she insisted it was fun. Maybe he should’ve worked harder, because the end result is hideous. Could he get it down from the wall? Maybe if he just grabs it and runs-

“Excuse me, are you the author of this masterpiece?”

Peter bounces on his feet and turns around.

“Quentin!”

He hugs his boyfriend with the biggest relief washing upon him. At least now he’ll be too distracted by the sight of Quentin in a suit for him to criticise his own work.

“I brought flowers.” Quentin announces, after the hug is over, offering Peter a bouquet of purple hydrangeas. “I thought that’s what people do when an artist debuts. I see I was wrong.”

Peter giggles, accepting the bouquet. He notices Quentin seems to be reading too much into his gift, so he places a kiss on his cheek.

“It’s a sweet gesture. Thank you.”

Quentin gives him a gentle smile before turning his attention to the photograph behind Peter. 

Much to Peter’s mortification, Quentin takes a few steps closer to the photo and narrows his eyes as he seems to scan it over and over again. Peter’s so nervous he feels like he’s at the verge of throwing up.

“What do you think?” He blurts, once it’s been too long for him to handle the expectation. 

Quentin turns to him, and Peter must be going crazy because he thinks he sees pride and admiration on his boyfriend’s face.

“It’s brilliant.” Quentin says, and he sounds so impressed, so genuine, Peter believes him. “You are brilliant. I love it.” _I love you._

“Really?” Peter asks, fidgeting with the ribbon on his bouquet.

Quentin hums, looking at the photograph again. He returns his gaze at Peter after a moment of silence, and laughs at his shocked expression for a second before kissing his lips. That’s enough to send Peter’s disbelief away. “Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen your work before. Not properly, anyway. Only small glimpses here and there while we have lunch or when I drive you around.”

“Well, I could show you all the photos on my camera if you want.” Peter offers, when he realises that what Quentin said is true. “They’re a mess, and not nearly as good as this, but they’re mine.”

Quentin gives him that smile (that wicked, charming, tender smile) before kissing his nose.

“I’d love to see them.”

They keep talking about the photo in front of them, with Quentin asking everything that comes to his head and Peter answering every question in lengths only achievable by himself. 

Quentin listens to every single words with fascination. Peter is so smart it’s captivating.

After ten-ish minutes, a voice interrupts them.

“Woah, dude. Is this yours?”

“Not bad.”

Peter smiles brightly at the sight of his best friends. 

“Hey, guys!” He greets them, and goes to hug the both of them (careful not to crush his flowers) and then turns to his boyfriend. He suddenly feels super nervous. “Uh, Quentin, these are MJ and Ned. I’ve told you about them, remember?”

“Of course.” Quentin answers, stretching out his hand to greet the pair. “You’re his best friends, right? It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, sir.” Ned answers, eyes wide open and looking at Quentin like he’s some kind of god. 

Which, okay, _mood,_ but Peter kinda wishes he got it together, so he shoves his best friend with his elbow to wake him from his trance.

MJ looks so calm as she shakes Quentin’s hand Peter doesn’t think he has to worry about her. That is, of course, until she opens her mouth.

“Peter never shuts up about you, so we were dying to meet you.”

Peter feels his face almost melt with how intensely he’s blushing. He feels even more embarrassed when he hears Quentin laugh.

“Is that so?” He asks, and he sounds so endeared Peter feels all his shame melt away to give space for affection. “To be fair, he never shuts up about anything.”

“That’s true.”

“I’m right here!”

“Sure you are.” Quentin answers. 

Then he winks at him, and Peter swears his soul leaves his body. Until someone hugs him.

“Gwen! You’re back!”

“Yup.” She answers, kissing his cheek soundly. “Between you and me, your photo is the best one. Not to mention you have the prettiest girl on it.”

Peter laughs, shaking his head fondly before facing his best friends.

“Guys, this is Gwen. Gwen, these are Ned and MJ.”

“Nice to meet you.” she greets, waving her hand at the pair with a friendly smile on her face.

“‘Sup.” MJ replies, before nodding towards Gwen’s pointe shoes. “Cool shoes.”

Gwen lifts her foot slightly to look at her shoes as if she had never seen them

before.

“Thanks.”

“Are you a ballerina?” Ned asks. Peter is glad that for the first time since he arrived his _swooning_ look isn’t directed towards Quentin.

“Yup. Have been for eleven years. These are basically glued to my skin by now.”

MJ seems thoughtful for a second, and then she says: “I always wanted to be a ballerina.”

“Really?” The four of them ask in unison. MJ rolls her eyes.

“Seems fun.”

“It is.” Gwen confirms, gleaming with pride. “It’s also painful from time to time, not gonna lie, but-“

“What’s been your worst injury?” MJ asks, morbid interest shining in her eyes. 

_That’s my MJ_, Peter thinks.

Gwen seems to ponder MJ’s question for a few moments.

“Well, there was this one time...“

* * *

At some point during the evening, as the group walks through the painting section, MJ grabs Peter by the arm and pulls him away from the others with her.

Quentin turns in their direction when he stops feeling Peter’s warmth beside him, and stops walking. Gwen and Ned imitate him.

“We’ll catch up with you guys later.” MJ offers as an explanation. 

Quentin looks at Peter for confirmation, and even if he doesn’t know what’s happening exactly, he nods.

The group keeps walking, and Peter turns to MJ.

“He’s approved.” She declares, no preface. “Also, you have him completely wrapped around your finger.”

Peter’s heart skips a beat.

“Wh-What? No. You’re just exaggerating.”

Because honestly, there’s absolutely no way Quentin feels as intensely about Peter as he feels about the man. 

It’s just not possible.

“Didn’t he give you those flowers?” MJ asks, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s just a sweet guy.” Peter argues, glancing at his bouquet with fondness.

MJ shrugs. “If you say so. Now, we should probably rescue your boyfriend from Ned’s never ending science interview.”

* * *

As they head towards the exit, Gwen approaches the foursome with a smile and evident excitement on her face.

“Hey, guys! Guess what? Morales from plastic arts is throwing an afterparty, wanna go? A friend will give us a ride there.”

Peter thinks about it for a second. He doesn’t like parties, really (at all), but he also doesn’t like going back home everyday to his dad ignoring him and his pa talking to him the same way he talks to the people at VA meetings when he tries to get them to open up to the group. It’s getting too painful to bear.

Besides, Peter worked really hard for the exhibit. 

He deserves having some fun.

“Sure!” 

“I told my parents I’d be home by eleven.” Ned answers.

“Same here.”

Peter looks at Quentin, expectantly.

“Sorry, I’m not really into parties, Pete.” Then, he grabs his arm and drags him a bit far from the group (_what’s with so much secrecy these days?_). “Are you sure you should go?” He half whispers. “I mean, your parents-“

“They think I’m at a wedding with MJ. It’s fine.”

Quentin seems to still have some doubts, but lets go of Peter’s arm and nods.

“Okay. Have fun.”

“Thanks!” Peter answers, giving his boyfriend a quick kiss to the lips. “And thank you for being here, and for the flowers!” He then walks towards his best friends and gives them both a kiss in the cheek. “Bye, guys!”

Quentin, MJ and Ned watch as Peter walks away with Gwen. There’s a silent agreement that they’re all worried for him, but no one mentions anything.

“Do you guys want a ride home?” Quentin offers, after clearing his throat.

He has a bad feeling about the party, but he tries not to pay attention to what’s probably just paranoia.

* * *

Peter’s near the snacks table when he’s approached by a brunette guy that somehow looks familiar and at the same time is completely unknown by him.

“Hey. Peter, right?” Despite the bizarre, bad feeling in his guts, Peter nods. “How long have you been in the academy?”

_Stupid Peter tingle acting up._

The guy just wants to get to know him. That’s pretty much harmless, right?

“Around two months. What about you?”

“A little over two years.”

“Woah, really? Which was your piece?”

“My photo wasn’t in the exhibit.” The guy answers, bitterness all over his voice. Peter suddenly feels really uncomfortable. “In fact, I wasn’t even offered to participate.”

“Oh.” Peter gulps, glancing around him in hopes Gwen will come to the rescue. Why do girls have to take so long in the bathroom? “Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah.” The guy shrugs. They’re surrounded by nothing but the sound of chatter and music for a few moments. Peter thinks he could just walk away, until- “You know, I was intrigued by you since the moment I saw you. You go to Midtown, don’t you? I’m friends with a guy you know: Flash.”

Peter pales. Maybe his Peter tingle wasn’t so stupid after all.

“F-Flash? Thompson?”

“Of course. Who else?” The guy asks, mockery all over his voice. “Anyway, I mentioned there was this annoying Peter in class who was always mumbling and asking questions and kissing the teacher’s ass. And he said ‘What a coincidence, there’s a dickwad like that in my physics class too.’”

Peter backs away when the guy takes a step towards him.

“I should go-“

The guy grabs the bouquet from Peter’s arms and looks at it with disgust.

_This isn’t good, this isn’t good, this isn’t good..._

“I don’t know why it happened both here and in Midtown,” the guy narrates, picking a flower and closing his fist around the petals “but even if you’ve fooled all teachers, you can’t fool people like Flash and I.” He drops the crushed flower to the ground and steps on it. Peter wants to do something, but he doesn’t want to make things worse. He feels stuck. “We’re smarter than you think. And just because you make everyone feel sorry for you we won’t just bend to your will.” This time, the guy throws the whole bouquet to the floor and starts stomping on it. “You’re a talentless loser, and that’s not gonna change no matter how many people you have wrapped around your finger.”

Just as Peter’s eyes start prickling with tears that he’s decidedly holding back, just as the petals from the flowers seem to yell at him to _do something_, the guy takes a step closer to Peter and pushes with full strength.

Peter does his best to stay on his feet, but the petals in the floor have made it slippery. 

His fall happens in slow motion. At least, it feels like it.

The first thing he feels is the edge of the table behind him hit his lower back, which absolutely fucking _hurts._ Then, it’s the rest of his torso against the table and the many plates on it. 

He hears the crashing of plates as they fall, he hears the table break under his weight. He hears the music stop and the happy chatter die.

It all ends when he's on the floor.

He hears the guy yell at him as much as he sees him, uncomfortably close. “What do you have to say, piece of shit?”

Peter gulps. He’s angry, sad, annoyed, frustrated, disappointed. But he can’t bring himself to respond the way he knows this asshole deserves.

“I’m sorry you weren’t part of the exhibit.” He murmurs so that only the guy will hear it.

His words only seem to make him even angrier. He goes to grab the collar of Peter’s shirt, but someone drags him away. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Osborn!?” Gwen yells, anger making her face flush red. She then glances around herself. “What are you looking at!?”

Once music starts playing again and the crowd has dissipated (at least a tiny bit), Peter stands up. He tries to, anyway. There’s food and soda and petals on the floor, and his back hurts so badly it’s pretty difficult for him to stand up.

Gwen reaches out for him and helps him, keeping a hold of him until he’s steadied himself.

They exit the house as fast as they can, and as soon as they’re outside, Peter takes his phone (which thankfully is intact from the mess), and dials the first contact to come to mind.

They pick up after the first ring.

“Quentin?”

Well, he wasn’t expecting his voice to sound so weak, but it’s too late to fix it now. His boyfriend already knows something’s going on.

“Pete? What’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath to keep himself from crying. That’s the last thing he wants to do while still there.

“Could you- could you please pick me up?”

“Send me the address.” 

* * *

Peter’s standing in the sidewalk when he sees Quentin’s car down the street. 

Gwen’s still gently caressing his back, not caring if his jacket is incredibly wet and dirty from the soda and snacks, hoping to ease his pain at least a bit. 

Quentin parks in front of the pair and gets out of the car hurriedly.

As he approaches them, Peter remembers kissing him on the lips earlier, right in front of Gwen. She didn’t mention anything about it, so he thinks maybe she got the feeling it was supposed to be secret.

He feels even more thankful for her, if possible.

“What happened?” Quentin asks, taking Gwen’s place caressing his back.

Peter shakes his head.

“Could you take me home, please?”

Quentin nods. _They’ll talk later._

He opens the door for Peter and helps him in, and then he hears laughter behind him. 

He turns around, and sees a guy looking in their direction with the most amused look in his eyes. 

His guts twist with anger, and when he looks at Gwen, he knows she feels it too. 

That must be the person responsible for this.

“Gwen, could you keep an eye on Pete?” Quentin asks, trying to hide his anger from his boyfriend. “I’ll be right back.”

Gwen nods complicitly.

Just as Quentin takes his first step towards the asshole, whose smile drops the second he notices the fury in his eyes, he feels a hand wrap around his wrist.

“No.”

He turns to face his boyfriend.

“Pete, he did this to you. I can’t let him get away with it.”

Peter shakes his head.

“Please, let’s just go.”

While reluctantly, Quentin gives in.

“Okay.” He looks at Gwen then. “Do you want a ride home?”

She shakes her head, an evil sort of shine in her eyes. “My dad is on his way.”

Quentin smiles. He doubts captain Stacy will go as far as _he_ would’ve to get the message across, but he hopes being yelled at by a cop will be enough to teach the asshole who hurt Peter a lesson.

He gets in the car and, with a last look towards the kid he now _hates,_ he starts driving.

They’re silent for a few minutes. The music playing in the radio is slightly soothing, but not enough to help with the bubble of anger waiting to burst inside of Quentin.

“I’m sorry I’m staining your carseat.” Peter apologises, out of the blue. “And for not having the flowers.”

Quentin frowns.

“It’s fine. I should be sorry.”

Peter narrows his eyes.

“For what?”

“I should’ve come with you. Nothing would’ve happened.”

“It’s my fault.” Peter argues, shaking his head. “I don’t even like parties. I just wanted an escape.” He snorts, self-deprecating all over the sound. “Can you guess how that went?”

Quentin shakes his head.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Peter shrugs, looking down on his lap, as he starts fidgeting with his fingers. “This guy came to me and started talking about this guy who goes to my school and has always hated me and next thing I know I fall on top of the table filled with food and drinks and it breaks and everyone is looking at me and the music stops-“

As soon as he realises Peter is at the verge of a panic attack Quentin reaches out for him and holds him closely to his chest.

“Hey, hey, Pete, it’s okay.” He murmurs, and he’s relieved when he feels his boyfriend breathing less erratically. “You with me, baby?”

Peter nods, getting comfy in Quentin’s arms.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know what that guy said, and I don’t want you to repeat it, but I know for sure it was bullshit.” Quentin states. He parks the car and turns to face Peter completely. “You are worth a thousand times more than any guy who’s capable of doing something like what he did to you, no matter what he may had made you think.” He declares, vehemently, hoping to drill his words into Peter’s mind so there’s no room for doubt. 

Except Peter’s quiet, and he’s just staring at Quentin in awe. 

“I think I’m in love with you.” Peter confesses, eyes wide and voice soft, like he’s sharing his most precious discovery. 

Which he is, in a way.

Quentin indulges in some moments of bewilderment before full on _bliss_ sets in.

Even if he is quiet, Peter doesn’t worry he may have scared his boyfriend away. He knows that’s not the case from the devotion in his eyes and the soft smile appearing on his lips. 

He knows the answer before Quentin even opens his mouth.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Peter giggles without meaning to, all sorts of relief and contentment settling in. Quentin follows soon after.

As the laughter dies down, their eyes lock. Even in the darkness of the night, they’re both so happy they could swear there’s a dazzling haze around them. 

Both of them lean forward at the same time, their lips meeting in the middle.

“You taste like Doritos again.” Quentin comments, almost breathless, after the kiss is over. “Will you taste like that in all milestones of our relationship?” 

Peter laughs, and soon enough they’re kissing again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Even as they’re on their way to Peter’s house, they kiss in every chance they’ve got.

“We’re here.” Quentin announces, as he parks in the street in front of the house/mansion. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Peter nods, leaning to kiss Quentin. “Don’t worry about me.”

Their last kiss lasts longer, and it takes everything in both of them to pull away.

“Goodnight.”

Peter smiles at his boyfriend before getting out of the car and walking towards his house.

He’s on cloud nine. He’s basically _flying_ on his entire way to the door.

Unfortunately, he falls down on the floor the second he’s inside the house and he sees his parents standing right in front of him.

“About time you showed up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this chapter, and I really hope you enjoyed it <3  
All chapters after this have been a bitch to write, so I'm really looking forward to post them. Not to be cocky or anything, but I am really proud of the way this story is turning out.   
Anyways, just in case you're wondering, here's what I envisioned for Peter's photo (at least something like this): https://www.instagram.com/p/B2B7cxAJAnh/?igshid=zz5gc8ygx9y0  
Thank you so much for reading this, and as always, any and all comments and constructive criticism are more than welcome.  
Have a nice week!


	10. Pouring

Peter’s mind is suddenly flooded with ideas for excuses and thoughts of self hatred. He was so busy imagining his life was perfect after talking with Quentin (ever since the exhibit, actually) he totally forgot the two people waiting for him at home.

He tries to put one of the many excuses coming to mind to use, but his dad is quicker than him.

“You’re grounded. Three weeks. No going out in the afternoons, not tutoring on Saturdays.”

Bringing the conversation (could they call it that?) to an end as abrupt as the beginning, Tony turns around and starts walking away, closely followed by Steve.

But Peter still has it in him to fight.

“What!? No! Dad!”

His parents turn to look at him.

“I don’t want to argue about this.” Steve states, a soft sort of authority in his voice. He’s obviously holding back some anger, which makes Peter feel equally thankful and guilty. “It’s way past midnight, we said to be here by eleven. These are the consequences. Now, go to your room.”

Peter shakes his head.

“I’m not going to my room! You can’t do this!“

Not going out in the afternoons means no hanging out with Quentin or his friends. 

Not tutoring on Saturdays means no photography classes.

Combine the lack of both, and you’ll have a Peter as miserable as he was months ago, long before Quentin was in the picture.

“Oh, really?” Tony sneers. “Wait, right, I forgot to mention something: when we realised it was getting late we called you, but you didn’t answer, so we called MJ’s mom, and guess what? She said she had no idea which wedding I was talking about, and her daughter was home already. Care to explain yourself?”

There goes his plan to make up excuses.

“I don’t see what the big deal is.” Peter argues, crossing his arms to make it seem like he’s far less intimidated than he actually is. “It was just a party.”

“A party that you bullshitted your way into-“

“Tony.”

“- while exposing yourself to unnecessary danger, wandering around New York at night like some sort of male escort.”

“Tony!”

“Now, I ask, care to explain yourself?”

Peter should know better than to talk back. His parents are obviously enraged, and they’re entitled to feel that way.

But so is Peter. And he won’t give up the secrets, the _happiness,_ he’s been hiding the last few months just because his parents can’t handle not being Peter’s puppeteers anymore.

_“No.”_

Tony’s face slowly turns red, just as Steve’s torso tenses.

“Excuse me?”

“It was just a party! People my age go to those all the time! Besides, it’s not like I do what I want, _ever,_ so don’t act like this is the last straw!”

Peter sees his dad’s jaw clench in a way he only saw Steve’s do whenever he talks with General Ross on the phone.

“Fine. One more week. Congratulations, that makes a month. You’re grounded for a month. Happy now?”

Peter is ready to argue again, but then Steve takes a step closer to him, face all tensed up and the most disappointed look on his eyes.

“Go to your room.”

* * *

Peter isn’t sure how long it’s been when he hears a knock on his door. He’s already wearing his pyjamas and he had some time to spare to inspect the bruises beginning to form on his back, so he assumes it’s been quite some time.

“Bug, it’s me.” Steve’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

He sounds calmer than he did before, if the old endearing name is to be trusted, so, hoping there will be no more arguing, he walks to the door, trying his best not to limp, and lets Steve in.

He sits down in the bed and gestures at Peter to do the same. 

Once he does, Steve grabs his son’s hand between his own and caresses it as he looks at his face in search of answers.

“What happened?”

Peter narrows his eyes softly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why were your clothes dirty, and why are you in pain?” Peter looks away from Steve. “So?”

With a sigh, Peter recognises he won’t get away with this one. At least it’s something he can tell the truth about. Kind of.

“Just this guy who was angry because I- because I’m the top student in all classes we share.” He explains, bringing his knees up to his chest to hug his legs, his other hand still between Steve’s. “It’s no big deal. He pushed me and I fell on the snacks table.”

Steve grimaces, but quickly shifts his expression to show only concern. He brings one of his hands towards Peter’s hair and brushes his curls away from his face with his fingers.

“Are you okay?”

Peter nods, leaning to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder. Truth be told, he missed being pampered by his dads after a bad day.

“I’m sorry I lied to you.” He whispers, hoping that’ll be enough to brush all resentment away. 

For the moment, at least.

“Are you?” Steve asks, as his lips brush upon Peter’s forehead. “I know you have many secrets.” When Peter jolts up to argue, he shakes his head. “It’s okay. You’re growing up, and your dad and I aren’t exactly the best when it comes to boundaries. But we love you.” A small, sad smile forms in his son’s face, and Steve mirrors him. “And I’m sure that if you just sat us down and talked, we could figure anything out.”

Peter’s eyes wander around the room once again, but even then, Steve can tell they’re watery. He wishes he could fix that.

He wishes he could fix everything.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide what makes you happy from us.” He declares. Choosing that as the end of his speech, he let’s go of Peter’s hand and kisses his head before standing up. “I’ll try to talk your dad into making your grounding less severe, and hopefully shorten it a bit. But I’m afraid I can’t promise anything.”

Peter nods as he wipes his tears away with the sleeve of his pyjamas.

“Thanks.”

Steve offers his son a small, comforting smile. Then he walks towards the door, looking over his shoulder before leaving.

“You should shower, since you fell on the snacks and all.”

His son laughs softly, and Steve’s chest aches with how much he missed that sound.

“Yeah.” Peter agrees. Steve’s happy he sounds much less scared than he did earlier. Just as he makes to turn around to leave, he hears his kid call out for him, so he stops. “I love you.”

Steve smiles.

“I love you too, buddy.”

* * *

“How’s he?” Tony asks, as soon as his husband enters their bedroom.

“Upset.” Steve sighs, looking at the other disapprovingly. “Which isn’t surprising considering the way you spoke to him.” 

Tony frowns and shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you for real?” 

“You can’t yell at our son just because you freaked out. I was worried as well, but there are better ways to show it.”

“Like what?” Tony asks, taking the conversation as a challenge. “Welcoming him with open arms and a cup of hot chocolate?”

“Can’t you just admit that you reacted poorly?”

“No, Steve, I can’t.” Tony refuses. His tone admits no discussion, so his husband settles huffing in frustration. “What happened today, what’s been happening for weeks, was a warning call. There’s a shitstorm coming and here we are without an umbrella.“

Tony can tell by the look on his eyes that Steve disagrees, and he takes a deep breath not to explode. 

This entire situation should be... Well, it shouldn’t even _exist_ in the first place, but given the circumstances, it should be them against _Peter,_ not _each other._

“We have to give Peter some space. If we don’t show him he can trust us he won’t open up.” 

_Detonation_.

“That’s bullshit! We tried giving him some space and look where that brought us! Farther than ever! He’s in a whole other fucking universe at this point!”

“What do you suggest, then?” Steve asks, raising his eyebrows. Tony deflates, and feels his guts twist with anger when he recognises his _‘thought so’_ expression. That is, until his expression softens and he exhales a defeated sigh. “Look, I don’t believe he tutors his friends every Saturday, I don’t believe he has so much homework he has to be locked in his room whenever he’s home, and I don’t believe he only went to a party today. But we can’t force the truth out of him.“

Even if Tony completely disagrees, he has no idea for a possible counterpoint, so he just sighs and admits (momentary) defeat.

He looks back at everything that happened earlier. Steve and him waiting for Peter, _worrying_ when he took longer than promised, that worry only increasing when he didn’t answer their calls. Worry opening room for _anger_ when they found out their son had lied to their faces.

_Fury_ when the little shit arrived not looking the tiniest bit regretful. 

“You know what’s weird?” Tony comments. Steve looks at him with intrigue. “He arrived looking so happy, I almost didn’t want to scold him. I wonder what happened that made him feel so cheerful to not even think about what was waiting for him here.”

They’re in the dark about Peter’s life once again. The feeling is no longer foreign, but it remains upsetting.

“Me too.” Steve agrees. _Fucking finally._

Maybe they could ask Happy if he saw something when he picked-

“How did he get here?”

Steve looks blindsided, until he seems to catch up with his husband's train of thought.

“Tony...”

Despite the very evident warning tone in Steve’s voice, Tony picks up his tablet and calls out for his AI.

“JARVIS, footage of the street in front of the house at quarter past twelve.”

“On it, sir.”

Tony recognises the car immediately. He’s seen it parked at Stark Industries, he’s seen it parked in their house. He saw it when he sent Happy behind Peter.

Without a word to Steve, Tony throws the tablet at their bed and storms off their bedroom, his husband following close behind. 

He isn’t talking, so Tony presumes he’s much more shocked than he is.

They enter Peter’s room without knocking and trying their best not to make any noise. They don’t see their son, but they can hear him talking in his bathroom.

“... You’re right. I’ll-I’ll just ask Gwen to let Miss Maximoff know...” Peter says. He sounds sad yet hopeful. It makes Tony sick. “... No, I’m fine. My back kinda hurts, but it could be worse...” Tony flinches at that, but Steve doesn’t. He tries to get his husband’s attention to clear up that bit, but he ignores him. “... That would be great, thank you... Okay. Talk to you tomorrow?...” Then, there’s a shift in Peter’s voice. It becomes softer, shy, sweet. “I love you too.” 

Tony feels like his entire world is collapsing around him. It doesn’t help how completely stunned Steve is. 

A few seconds go by, and Peter is out of the bathroom. His hair is wet, his cheeks are rosy and there’s the tiniest smile on his face as he looks at his phone.

Then, he looks up and sees his parents.

_Deja-fucking-vú _

Tony takes a few steps closer to him. In the deadly silence of the room, they sound so loudly there’s a threatening echo.

“Who’s the lucky motherfucker?” He asks, honeyed voice.

And yet, Peter dares to pretend being confused. 

“What?”

Then he hugs his phone to his chest, and Tony immediately pulls at his hands and arms until the damn thing is on his own power.

Peter’s looking at him as though he had his heart on his hands.

“Don’t try to play dumb!”

“Tony, calm down.” 

But he doesn’t.

“Your back hurts uh? Is that why you got here late? Whoever drove you home got overexcited while-?”

“Tony, it was an accident at the party he went to. Don’t blow it out of proportion.” 

The fucking condescending tone in Steve’s voice makes Tony feel like his head is a tickling nuclear bomb.

“Do you honestly believe that bullshit!?”

“It’s the truth!” Peter argues, even if his tremulous voice takes away some of the statement’s value.

“Like I’m gonna believe you! You’ve done nothing but lie to us for fuck knows how long!”

“Fine, I have! But what I told pa about today is true!”

Steve finally walks closer to them.

“Then you better start telling the truth about everything else. We’re all ears.”

Peter gulps, then nods, though it seems to take everything in him. It’s evident he’s still unwilling to just tell the truth, but he doesn’t see an escape.

“I-I didn’t know what I really wanted to do with my life, and I was looking for something I really loved but I couldn’t come up with anything. Two months ago I met a girl, Gwen. I told her about my problem, and since she’s been in an art academy for ages, she got me a spot in a class: Photography. That’s where I actually go to on Saturdays.”

Peter’s voice kept getting smaller and smaller, but it only riles Tony further.

“But Happy drives you to your friends’.” Steve points out, his tone making it clear he expects an explanation.

“I take the subway to the academy and back.” Tony tilts his head. He knows it’s a lie. “Earlier there was an art exhibit and a photo of mine was in it and I had to go, and afterwards Gwen told me about a party and I thought ‘why not?’, so I went. Her parents drove me here after the accident.”

Tony is seeing _red_ at this point. He can’t fucking believe Peter keeps lying his ass off this far into the game.

“But I don’t get it, you said you applied for biotechnology at NYU.” Steve says, taking the lead once again. He knows that he can’t leave the talking to Tony. “You had Banner write you a recommendation letter.”

Peter nods.

“I did apply at NYU, but for cinema studies. I asked my teacher at the academy for a recommendation letter.”

The three of them remain silent for a moment then. Peter keeps looking at the phone in Tony’s hand, waiting to get it back. 

The husbands’ eyes lock, and they know they’re both thinking the same thing.

Steve nods (if only a bit reluctantly), and with his blessing, Tony looks back at Peter.

“So when does Quentin Beck come in?”

In that moment, Peter’s poker face completely crumbles. He stares at Tony with his eyes wide open in fear and all color drained from his face.

“What?”

“You keep having lunch with him despite not being an intern at SI anymore, he picks you up and drops you off wherever you tell us you’re going to.” Tony then looks at the phone in his hands with utter disgust. “You call him late at night and tell him you love him.”

Peter shakes his head effusively. 

He’s scared shitless, and Steve and Tony know that. It’s a sour experience for both, but for whole different reasons.

“I don’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was speaking to aunt May.”

Tony’s whole face tenses, and he drops the phone to the floor.

“How stupid do you think we are!?”

“Tony, that’s enough!” Steve intervenes, grabbing his husband by the arms to get him away from Peter.

He turns around to face him instead.

“Give me a break! It’s not me who you should be yelling at! It’s your fault this guy thinks he can get away with anything!” Tony declares, pushing Steve on the chest. “Warnings and mild groundings don’t fucking work!”

He makes to push Steve again, but Peter sneaks between them. Tony pulls back, even if he kinda wants to hit him too.

“Stop!” He waits a few seconds for his parents to calm down then, as if such thing was possible. “I- We-... I told Quentin about the academy and he offered to give me a ride sometimes-“

Steve places a hand on Peter shoulder heavily. 

“_Cut the bullshit_.”

Peter’s lower lip quivers, but he nods and takes a deep breath to control his crying.

_When did that even start?_

“Quentin got me a place in the academy. I told him I wanted to keep it a secret from you, that’s why he didn’t mention anything. He drives me to and from my classes.” He almost stops there, but Steve’s grip on his shoulder tightens. “We-We started dating about a month ago.”

_“Dating.”_ Tony huffs. Peter eyes water even more so after that, but both his parents ignore it.

“I asked him to keep it a secret too, and so he did. He’s the one who brought me home from the party.”

Once again, the husbands exchange looks. Both determine there aren’t any more secrets, so Steve let’s go of Peter. 

Their son looks at them expectantly.

“I’ll end that son of a bitch.” Tony announces, turning towards the door.

“No! Wait!” 

“He should have known better!” Tony rages, looking back at Peter when he grabs his hand to stop him. “He’s a fucking adult!”

“I’m an adult too!” Peter argues.

“Well, you’ve done nothing but prove otherwise.”

Peter looks at Steve dumbfounded and glassy-eyed. He lets go of Tony. 

“You finally take my side. Thank you. About fucking time. Now, if you excuse me, I have to ruin the life of the man who touched my son.”

“He didn’t-“ The husbands look at Peter half surprised, half annoyed. He should just keep quiet now, for everyone’s sake. “We haven’t- He didn’t touch me.”

Tony sighs. He wants to be relieved, but he can’t.

“Even if I believed you, which I _don’t,_ it wouldn’t make a difference.”

Peter watches as his dad walks out of the room. He wishes there was something he could do or say to stop him, but he’s afraid he will only make things worst.

After a moment, Steve walks out too. At least, he intends to.

“Pa, I’m telling the truth. You have to believe me.”

Steve stops dead on his tracks.

It hurts. It actually fucking hurts. Because that’s his son, the boy who once upon a time helped him pick presents for Tony and organise VA meetings. The boy who he used to carry on his shoulders when they went out for a walk, or even as he made breakfast. The boy who told him, even before his best friends, about his first crush.

The boy who used to trust him.

He wants to believe him.

“I can’t.”

So he walks out.

And Peter’s mind starts racing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay soooo this chapter was a nightmare to write but I, personally, really like the end result. But, most importantly, do you?  
Chapter 11 is short but really important, and one of many Chekhov's guns in this story will be shown. I can't wait for you to read it! It will be up on Friday :)  
As always, any and all comments are more than welcome and encouraged.  
Have a nice week!


	11. Midnight crisis

Quentin is pretty sure the knocking on his door is an accident. Just a drunken mess looking for their own home. 

He isn’t too annoyed by it. It wouldn’t be the first time, and, to be fair, most houses in the neighbourhood look pretty damn similar. He knows to just ignore the knocking until whoever’s outside realises they aren’t home.

So, he gets comfortable in bed again and closes his eyes. 

But the knocking continues, and it actually seems to increase. Add that to the sudden, gut-wrenching bad feeling on him, and Quentin is out of bed in the blink of an eye.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” He announces, dragging the words a little (he’s still half asleep) as he walks down the stairs and reaches the front door. He fully awakens when he looks through the peephole and sees who’s outside. He opens the door. “Peter?” Without a word, the youngest hugs him tightly and hides his face on his chest. Quentin returns the gesture, even if he’s still confused. “Baby, what’s going on?”

Peter pulls away only enough to look at him in the eyes.

“Let’s leave.”

Quentin tenses up. 

He considers he may have heard wrong (he’s still drowsy, truth be told), but something about Peter’s puffy eyes and anxious demeanour confirm what he heard.

Still, it can’t hurt to ask.

“What?”

Peter breaks the hug definitely to step inside the house. Quentin hadn’t realised before, but he’s got a small suitcase with him. He isn’t wearing pyjamas, but he is dressed in a way that makes it pretty obvious he got changed in a hurry.

“UCLA has a super cool film program,” Peter mumbles “and you could try to use your holograms for special effects like you initially wanted, and-“

Quentin closes the door and walks closer to Peter, grabbing his arms to bring his fidgeting and rambling to a stop. 

“What are you talking about? What happened?”

It’s like turning a switch. Peter’s face crumbles and there’s nothing but urgency in his expression.

“My dads know everything! We have to leave!”

Quentin feels a cold shiver run down his spine.

“Shit.” He manages to utter, as he runs his hand through his face.

Peter nods, and he hugs himself.

“I know.” He cries. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Quentin is quick to reassure his boyfriend. He presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. I swear.” But Peter is still crying, and he still looks pretty shaken. “Come on. Deep breaths, okay?” He instructs, and he starts inhaling deeply, signalling to Peter to imitate him, which he does. “Better?”

When Peter nods, Quentin guides him to the living room.

He lets him sit down, but he remains standing. 

Okay, so, apparently, the Stark-Rogers’ now know Quentin is dating their son. And Peter did say they know everything, so they must also know he was helping their son keep all his secrets from them.

They must be furious. They’re right to be, but still... Quentin wonders what that means for him. For them.

He decides not to follow that line of thought. He will worry about that some other time. As of right now, Peter needs a shoulder to cry on.

Quentin sits down besides Peter with a sigh.

“How did you get here?” He asks when his boyfriend looks at him.

“I called a cab. It’s dangerous, I know,” Peter adds, as soon as he sees the intention to lecture him on Quentin “but I didn’t know what else to do. I wasn’t sure you were going to pick me up if I called you.”

“I would have.” Quentin says, as he holds Peter’s hand. “But it’s not important anymore. What’s really important is why you’re here. It’s the middle of the night.”

Peter gulps and looks away. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind. But I would like to know the reason behind this visit.”

Quentin watches patiently as Peter’s emotions display through his actions and expressions. He sees his boyfriend sink deeper into his seat, pull at the sleeves on his sweatshirt so that his hands are hidden and Quentin doesn’t see them shake (even if it’s a bit late for that). He sees his brows furrow, his eyes lock on his knees, the edges of his lips tremble as he tries not to show the true depth of his despair.

And finally, he sees Peter’s chest rise when he takes a deep breath to speak.

“My dads don’t love me anymore, and they will try and destroy your life because of me. I can’t let that happen.”

Quentin waits a few moments to determine either he heard correctly or not. Apparently, he did.

He shakes his head in disbelief.

“I’m sure they’re angry, but that can’t be true.”

Peter laughs, dripping with bitterness, and Quentin knows he’s crying when he brings one of his hands to his face to wipe his tears.

“You weren’t there when I told them the truth.” 

There’s a pause, and all that can be heard for a while are the soft sniffling sounds from Peter and the shifting from Quentin’s side.

“I know you’re scared.” He says, effectively breaking the ice and gaining Peter’s attention back. “So am I. But are you sure you want to run away?”

Peter hides his face on the palms of his hands.

“There’s no other way. We can’t be happy as long as we stay here.”

As tempting as the offer is, Quentin is completely sure it isn’t actually an option. He only wishes he could show that to Peter.

“Won’t you miss your life here? What about your friends?”

“We could meet somewhere in the middle from time to time,” Peter shrugs “like Indianapolis or something. It’s no big deal.” 

There’s silence again, and Quentin sighs.

“You’re doing this with or without me, aren’t you?”

Peter looks at him with the most scared expression on his face, and Quentin feels so bad he caused that he almost regrets asking that question. Almost.

“I’d much rather do it with you, but yeah.”

And just like that, the decision has been made.

“Okay.” His boyfriend’s eyes are on him again, a glint of hopefulness. “Okay. Let’s do it. What’s your plan?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly.” Peter admits, looking down at his lap again. He’s doing that a lot, and Quentin hates it. He hates seeing his boyfriend so unsure and hesitant and scared. “I know I want to move to California, which is super far away, I know,” he quickly adds, seeing the troubled expression in Quentin’s face “but that could be the best part, right? Leave all of this behind, start over together.”

“Sounds good.”

It doesn’t. Not for Quentin, anyway, but he knows Peter needs him to agree, so he does.

“I-I was thinking we could make a quick stop at Vegas on our way, too.” He pauses then, expecting some sort of outrageous response from Quentin. When it doesn’t come, he continues: “Even if my dads find us, they can’t really break us up if we’re married, can they?”

“No, they can’t.” Quentin agrees. This time, he means it. Halfheartedly, but still. “So, we’ll be making a stop at Vegas. That means you want this to be a road trip?”

Peter nods.

“I thought it could be fun.”

Hearing the shyness in his voice, Quentin presses a kiss to his temple. He keeps his lips there for a few moments, trying to figure out a way to solve the puzzle.

_What should I do, what should I do, what-_

“We’ll have to stop at some point, though. Driving for a whole day straight isn't a good idea. Since you mentioned Indianapolis, why don’t we stop there to freshen up a bit?”

“That’s fine.” 

At first, Peter thinks he’s thoroughly convinced Quentin to get on board with his plan, but he sees a glint of doubt on his eyes still. “What?”

Quentin shakes his head and gives him a peck on the cheek. He feels himself blush, but that doesn’t wash away how confused he is. 

“I think the sensible thing to do is telling one person.” When he notices his boyfriend is about to protest, he adds: “Just one. Let me explain my reasoning and then the decision will be entirely up to you, okay, baby?”

Peter is almost ready to shut the idea down, but something about Quentin’s words stick to his mind. If the man is so willing to do whatever his boyfriend asks for, the least he could do in return is listening, right? 

“Okay.”

The small, thankful smile Quentin offers makes Peter’s heart feel like it’s bursting with love.

“I think that if something were to happen to us, it would be best if someone knew where we are. We’d only get in touch in an emergency, so you don’t have to worry about anyone finding out. I know it seems paranoid, but I’d rather not risk it.”

Peter remains quiet for a moment, taking in the man’s words, until a question pops in his mind: “Who would we tell? I mean, I love my friends but they probably wouldn’t be much help in an emergency, and, well, my dads are out of the question.”

Quentin hums to acknowledge his words, but otherwise seems completely lost in thought. Until an answer seems to appear in his mind. “Miss Romanoff has been very discreet with our secret. I think she can handle one more.”

* * *

Tony groans. “We have enough influence to put him in jail with a snap of our fingers! Why aren’t you cooperating!?”

“Because we have to be reasonable.” Steve argues. He’s surprised he’s managed to keep relatively calm after yet _another_ argument. “Peter will take Beck’s side if we try anything, and the last thing we want to do is push him farther away.”

To his frustration, Tony shakes his head stubbornly. 

“I think some tough love could do good right about now.”

“That’s not tough love, that interference.”

“Then what the fuck are we supposed to do, Steve?” He doesn’t immediately answer, and Tony feels like he may have won this round for a moment. Then, he sees a certain something on his husband’s face. “No. I refuse to give Beck a chance.”

“Tony, don’t-“

He refuses to hear the rest. He quickly sits down in bed and turns the lights off. 

Even in the darkness, he sees Steve’s confusion, so, he says: “Guest room is down the hall.”

* * *

Natasha is surprised to see Peter and Quentin in her doorstep, to put it mildly. It’s the middle of the night, and they both seem shaken, nervous, upset. There's no way they just stopped by to say hi.

“What’s up?” 

“Can we come in?” Quentin asks, pleading for a positive answer through his eyes.

“Oh, yeah. Of course.”

Still lost, she steps aside to let them in.

“Did uncle Bucky wake up?” 

“No. He’s a heavy sleeper.” Nat answers, closing the door behind the two unexpected visitors. “So?”

Peter takes a deep breath.

“We’re leaving.”

A thousand questions pop up in Natasha’s mind, but the strongest yet somehow weakest contender is: “What?”

“We’ll be moving to California.” Quentin explains. “His parents know about us.”

Her mind moves at the speed of light then.

Peter can’t run away, that’s just idiotic. Even more so the fact that his boyfriend seems to be completely on board with it.

Except he _doesn’t_ seem to be. Not wholeheartedly. Maybe not at all.

Instead of recriminating Quentin or Peter or _both,_ she acts like she’s going along. That’s what the man is doing, right?

“What? You wanted to keep it a secret, right?”

“Yeah.” Peter nods, eyes suddenly teary. “But I screwed up.”

Quentin goes to put his arm around the youngest’s shoulders, and he leans into the embrace.

“We want to tell someone where we’re going just in case anything comes up. But it has to be a secret.”

Again, Nat sees something on Quentin’s eyes. She isn’t sure what it is, but it incites her to keep the act going. 

“Okay.”

“We’re going to California.” Quentin informs, his eyes locked on Natasha’s. “We’ll make a quick stop in Indianapolis on our way, and another one in Vegas.”

_Gotcha._

“Well, sounds like a long trip. You should take some food from the kitchen with you so you don’t have to stop too often.”

Peter seems super thankful, albeit hesitant.

“Really?”

“Sure, kiddo. Go ahead.”

He turns his attention back to Quentin.

“I’ll catch up with you. I need to use the bathroom.”

Peter turns to leave to the kitchen, and the adults exchange a look.

“This way.” Nat signals. They walk down the hallway that will take them farther from the kitchen, and once they’re at the end of it, she finally voices her real thoughts. “What’s up with that? Are you serious? You can’t do this. It would destroy Tony and Steve.”

Quentin raises his hands lightly to ease her a bit.

“I don’t want to do this, but... you saw Peter. He’s deeply upset. He isn’t thinking straight and he will do this no matter what. The least I can do is take care of him. I’ll try to convince him to come back. If I can’t... I’ll send you our exact location so that the police can come for us.”

Nat shakes her head.

“The Stark-Rogers know everyone, someone worse than the police will be on your tails as soon as you hit the road if they aren’t already.”

“That’s why I’m telling you this. You have to let them know I don’t intend to take their son away from them. But don’t give them any details unless I tell you I’ve failed.”

She really shouldn’t agree. It’s wrong. It’s unethical. She’d betray her friends’ trust.

But they don’t need protecting, and they have each other for comfort, plus all their friends. As of right now, it looks like Peter has only Quentin for that, but he seems to need some reassurance as much as the youngest.

_I’m gonna regret this._

“Fine.”

Quentin exhales in relief.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Steve can’t sleep. 

He doesn’t know if it’s thanks to his past as a soldier or if that’s the irony of it, but he always struggles to sleep in a unusual setting.

And the guest room is definitely _unusual._ There aren’t coffee mugs in every surface, or pictures of their wedding day, or with Peter, or with their friends. But, most importantly, Tony isn’t by his side.

Accepting he won’t be getting any sleep, he stands up and walks out of the lonely room. May as well get some work done while his family life collapses.

He doesn’t mean to make a stop on his way to his office, but something catches his eye. Actually, his ear.

He walks closer to the door of Peter’s room, and pauses. His son mumbles on his sleep as much as he does while awake. Not only that, but he also moves around like crazy and snores lightly. But there isn’t a sound coming from the room.

Steve opens the door.

He doesn’t allow panic to take over him when he realises Peter isn’t in bed. Or his bathroom.

Maybe he couldn’t sleep either, so he decided to go to the living room. Just like his pa.

It’s alright.

And that’s how he ends up walking around the house looking for Peter, while unbeknownst to him, Tony is headed to the guest room.

Except, he doesn’t make it that far. He’s developed the same good ear as Steve when it comes to his son.

He feels like his legs are made out of stone as he walks towards Peter’s room, and as soon as he’s in front of the familiar door, his stomach is made of concrete. Not a nice feeling, but he does his best to ignore it.

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door.

“Peter?” 

_He isn’t in bed. It’s okay, maybe he woke up early and is showeri- The bathroom door is open. No one’s there_.

“Kiddo?” 

_Maybe he’s hiding in the closet, just like his dad before him. _

_Not time for jokes. _

_Nope, no one, not even a green ball waiting to make a stand-up show. _

“This isn’t funny, young man!”

_Under the desk. He must be under the desk._

_Negative._

“I know you’re upset, I get that, but don’t even play with this.”

_In a drawer! Of course!_

_Nothing. Zero. Sip. Nada._

“Peter!”

“Tony?“ 

_Steve must be in the hallway, but somehow he sounds like he’s in a different universe. _

_A different dimension._

_That’s it._

“I can’t find Peter!”

_He has to be in a different dimension, that has to be it. _

_There’s no other possible explanation._

“JARVIS, where’s Peter?” 

_When did Steve get here?_

“I’m afraid he isn’t here. He left the perimeter approximately two hours, twenty five minutes and fifty one seconds ago.”

_Why does everything sound muffled?_

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

_Heartbeats. You’re not supposed to be able to hear those, right?_

“I was ordered not to by the young master.”

_Damn, it’s stuffy here. _

_Are the walls closing in? It feels like they’re closing in._

“Tony, sit down.”

_Did Steve just talk to me? _

_Oh, he’s looking at me._

_Those eyes... Why was I mad at him?_

_Wait, what did he say?_

“No, I won’t sit down. I have to find my... son.”

_Wow, there’s a mess under the bed_.

“Tony!”

_Are those sirens?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)  
Okaaaay melodramatic much? I know, I know.  
I kept rewriting this chapter all week. Even last night I modified some things.  
These last few chapters are really complicated and tricky and I need to make them strong but also soft ?   
Anyways, what did you think of this chapter, and more specifically, of the way everyone is handling the situation? Your comments could potentially modify the course of the last few chapters, so just comment whatever comes to mind.  
Thank you so much for your support, and I'll read you on wednesday for chapter 12 <3


	12. A leap of faith

“Steve.”

He turns to face his best friend.

He wasn’t expecting any visits at this time.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?” 

“I should.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Natasha’s eyes soften in a way she rarely ever allows them to, all tenderness and love for the first family she ever knew.

“I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Steve nods, and the second Natasha opens her arms for him he’s there, taking in the warmth and affection from her embrace.

Her presence alone is comforting. At least now he can focus on trying to figure out the exact scent of her hair instead of replaying the scene of Tony having a heart attack over and over again in his head.

“How is he?”

“Stable.” Steve answers, gently pulling away from the hug. “But I don’t think there’s much room for a full recovery at the moment.”

Natasha tenses up. It makes sense in Steve’s head. She’s as much friends with Tony as she’s friends with him.

“What do you mean?”

She’s afraid she knows the answer when Steve’s eyes water.

“Peter ran away.” He explains, evidently shaken but still trying to keep his composture. “He didn’t leave a note, but we know he’s with who we believe is an abuser. I checked his house, and he’s gone too.”

_Abuser._

But that’s not it, is it? 

When they’d showed up at her door, it seemed like Quentin was pretty reluctant about the whole situation, but he was doing it because it was what Peter wanted to do, and he didn’t want to leave him alone. He’d even confessed so to her in the strictest confidence. 

But she can’t say that. She can’t say she trusts a man she’s met exactly three times with her nephew’s life because she has no way to explain it.

She can, however, offer information in the shape of comfort.

“It’s gonna be okay, Steve. You’ll get your son back.”

The man nods, even if he seems like he’s given up.

“I know I will. Because I don’t know what I’m gonna do if I don’t.”

They embrace once again, and it takes everything in both to step away.

“I’ll get you something to eat.” She informs, accurately guessing Steve doesn’t have it in him to worry about himself.

He looks at her with overwhelming thankfulness.

“Thanks, Nat.”

She walks away, and as soon as Steve is out of her sight, she wonders if this time she should put love over principles. 

But then again, in this situation they’re both so twisted she isn’t so sure which is which.

* * *

Quentin parks in a gas station about five hours after taking off. 

It seems almost intentionally ironic how _perfect_ everything but what’s under their control has been. No annoying traffic, no anything’s to avoid on the road, radio signal everywhere, fun music in every station. 

The weather is exceptionally nice, too, as if mocking the rain cloud over the two of them. 

Peter had been super talkative and excited at the beginning, all wonder and hopeful comments about possibilities for the future. But then the reality of their situation must have hit him, because he grew quieter and quieter until the state he’s currently in: completely silent.

Quentin hadn’t attempted to comfort him, because he shouldn’t. He won’t actively encourage Peter to pursue a desperate approach for happiness. But he can’t actively put down his hopes neither, so he’d rather just avoid any comments about it at all.

“Okay, first stop. I’m gonna buy some coffee and maybe a sandwich or something. Do you want anything?” Quentin asks, looking at Peter, who merely shakes his head, absentmindedly, looking out of the window. “Alright. Do you wanna go to the bathroom?” The same gesture. Quentin sighs, taking his boyfriend’s hand and placing a kiss over the knuckles. “Pete, we can go back if you’re not sure about this.”

“I am.” Peter immediately blurts, facing Quentin. He would’ve been convincing hadn’t it been for the shakiness of his voice and the paleness on his face. “I’m just overthinking this, I’ll be fine.”

Quentin wants to push it, to start asking questions and counter Peter’s answers with comments that will make him want to go back, but he has no idea where to start. 

And also, he doesn’t want to risk Peter figuring what he’s trying to do. Chances are, if he finds out he’ll run away from Quentin too, and he can’t allow that. 

He will bring Peter back to his parents; he just has to figure out a way to play his cards.

“Well, are you sure you don’t want anything?”

Peter nods, before looking away shyly.

“I really have to pee, though.”

Quentin laughs fondly and presses another kiss on Peter’s hand before letting go.

“Go ahead. I’ll be at the store.”

Both exit the car, and Quentin wonders if he should just take the easy path and leave while Peter is in the bathroom, maybe send a message to Tony so he’ll know where to find him. 

It would be much easier than the psychological puzzle he’s playing, except that Peter would be hurt, and Quentin wants to avoid causing that at all costs. 

So he walks inside the store, and when Peter walks up to him shortly after and asks for Doritos, he indulges him and pecks his cheek.

He’ll figure something out. He has to.

* * *

Bucky looks away once Nat is done telling him everything. 

He doesn’t know what he expected to hear after she asked to talk to him in private as soon as he arrived at the hospital, but it wasn’t that.

“So you know where they are but you won’t do anything about it?” 

Nat sighs, but something in her eyes tell him she was expecting that reaction.

“I can’t. I can only tell them I know and that Peter is safe.”

“Is he, though? I mean, what if Beck just told you all that crap to give you a false sense of trust or complicity? What if he dragged Peter to Canada or something?”

“He seemed pretty sincere to me. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt Peter.”

“He would be hurting him by conspiring behind his back to sabotage his plan.”

Even if she understands where he’s coming from, Nat wishes Bucky would just _trust_ her. She was the only person who saw the runaway couple before they left, after all. 

So she tries to explain what she saw and was told.

“Peter doesn’t really wanna leave. He’s just scared. I’m willing to bet Stony had the worst reactions to what he told them, which is understandable, but it still upset him. He’s not used to being in trouble. He just needs to calm down to see reason, and Beck is there to give it an extra push.”

Bucky nods softly as he takes in everything his girlfriend just told him, the gesture slowly transitioning into a frustrated (and stubborn) shake of head.

“Nat, Tony is lying in a hospital bed because of this, Steve is at the verge of a nervous breakdown, and you’re saying you won’t tell them where their son is?”

There’s a pause, in which both process each other’s arguments and try to reason them. 

“You’re completely dismissing Peter’s feelings.” Nat insists, sternly. “If I tell them, they’ll go for him and it won’t end well.”

Bucky crosses his arms.

“I don’t see how this could possibly end well neither.”

He’s got a point, but so does Nat.

Or so she believes. 

She isn’t a fan of hiding something as important as their son’s location from her best friends, but she doesn’t trust them with that information, as much as it pains her to accept it.

“Buck, please.” 

He stares at her indignantly for a moment, but his eyes tell when he gives in. 

“Okay.” He accepts, just as reluctantly as Nat did the night before. “Let’s break the news.”

They walk towards the room in which Tony is with their fingers intertwined and a huge feeling of dread. It’s ought to be an ugly conversation, and they know it.

They’re a few meters away from the room when they hear Steve’s voice coming from the inside.

“... I could ask Sam for help, yes. He’s still at DC, he could arrange something with Fury. But Peter is old enough to not be considered a runaway. Even with their aggressive approaches-“

Nat and Bucky exchange looks. It sounds like it’s almost too late.

“Just do something! I want my kid back here, where he’s safe, not wandering around the country with an abuser!”

Natasha lets go of Bucky’s hand and enters the room.

“Beck isn’t an abuser.”

Her friends look definitely blindsided, but she can tell Tony is gravitating towards anger, while Steve looks lost in thought. 

He looks at Nat as Bucky joins them. 

“I never told you it was Beck.” Steve says. His voice is definitely accusatory, and she braces herself for a confrontation.

“I know Peter is dating him. I’ve known for a month.” 

Tony sits up in a split second.

“You knew!?”

Steve gives his husband a reprimanding look, and their eyes lock for a second. Bucky feels even more hesitant about the whole secrecy when he notices the way the situation seems to be affecting their marriage, but he knows better than to think another argument with Nat will get the point across.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Steve asks, looking back at Nat.

“Did you honestly want to find out from her?” Bucky intervenes, sensing the situation slowly getting out of hand.

“And I promised Peter I wouldn’t tell anyone.” 

“So your promises to a teen are above our friendship?” Tony reproaches, voice strong and heavy for a man who just had a heart attack. Nat wishes she could comfort him instead of giving him more stress.

“It wasn’t your place to tell, I get that,” Steve says, gaining his best friends’ attention back “but why didn’t you say anything when you saw me earlier? If the relationship is genuine then-“

“Don’t!” Tony warns, looking a second away from storming off the hospital.

“-our worst fear isn’t true. Peter isn’t in danger.”

Bucky nods, relief washing over him. He’s glad at least one of those stubborn men are getting the point.

“Beck wasn’t comfortable keeping the relationship from you, but he was just as afraid as Peter of your reaction.”

“They trust me.” Nat mentions then, and pauses for a second. She has to drop the bomb now or never. “And they told me where they’re going, but I can’t tell you unless I’m sure they aren’t coming back on their own accords.”

Tony sighs and shakes his head, eyes watery. He looks so defeated, Nat wonders again if she’s doing the right thing.

Well, she _knows_ she isn’t, but she also knows this is the lesser of two evils.

But what if it isn’t?

“How would you know?” Steve asks, interrupting that dark train of thought.

“I’ll get a text from Beck.”

“He’s trying to make Peter see reason as we speak.” Bucky adds, for what is worth.

Steve sits down in the chair besides Tony’s bed, the action followed by a tense silence.

Everyone is a soft blow away from falling down the edge, and they know it.

After seemingly recomposing (at least enough to form coherent sentences), Steve looks at Natasha.

“Will you let us know of any news?”

She nods.

“Of course.”

Tony huffs, gaining a glare from Steve, and suddenly the room feels to crowded. Bucky clears his throat as he gestures Nat towards the door.

“We’ll give you some space.“

Steve nods, managing a small, thankful smile for his best friends, and as soon as the door closes, Tony talks.

_“Unbelievable.”_ His husband looks at him with mild confusion. “You can’t keep doing this”

“Doing what?”

“You keep trusting everyone but me!” Steve sighs, but Tony isn’t having any of that. “What’s up with that, uh? Am I not smart enough? Do I have to go to the military for you to take me seriously!?”

“Tony, we are both volatile right now and we can’t trust ourselves to take a good look at the situation.”

“So why do you trust Natasha, of all people!?”

“Because she’s levelheaded. She’s good evaluating situations and she always knows what to do.”

“So do you!”

“No, I don’t. Not when it comes to Peter. I thought I did, and look where that took us.” Tony knows what Steve is about to say before he talks again. He sees the guilt clouding those gorgeous blue eyes he so dearly loves. “You were right: this is my fault.”

A month ago, Tony would’ve agreed. A day ago, too. Hell, ten minutes ago he would’ve spat on Steve’s face and asked for a divorce after a _told you so_ speech, but not now.

So he does his best to lighten up the mood, even if just a bit.

“Who are you? Where’s my Steve?”

His husband seems surprised there aren’t any resentful comments coming, but that surprise gives in to sadness.

“I don’t know.” Steve shrugs, as he takes Tony’s hand and caresses over the hospital wristband. “But I know he wouldn’t have failed you the way I did.”

Tony shakes his head and places his hand over his husband’s.

“You didn’t fail, honey. We can still fix this.”

Steve is skeptical for a moment, but then he realises: drowning in guilt, regretfulness and self-pity won’t solve a thing.

Instead, he chooses to learn from his mistakes, those of which led them to where they’re standing.

So, he asks: “What do you want to do now, Tony?”

He doesn’t need to think about the answer.

“I just want to get my kid back. At least make sure he’s safe.” There’s an acknowledgment hum, and then only silence. Tony is intrigued by his husband’s expression, which tells him something’s on his mind. “Steve?”

There are quite some _what if_’s. 

He’ll have to move now and fast. 

Maybe they won’t cooperate. 

But it’s their best shot.

“I may have an idea.”

The beginnings of a smile tug at the end of Tony’s lips.

“That’s my man.”

* * *

After nearly eight more hours driving, Quentin finally parks outside of a small motel outside of Indianapolis. It’s not the kind of place he would’ve stopped at under normal circumstances, but he doesn’t want to spoil Peter. That would make him think the whole running away thing is a good idea.

“Sorry I couldn’t spoil you with a nice hotel,” he says, hoping it will prevent Peter from suspecting “but in my defence, we’re only staying for one night, and this is on the way, so...”

Peter shrugs. He doesn’t look bothered at all, which makes Quentin love him more and simultaneously makes him feel even more frustrated. 

“I don’t mind.” Peter assures, expression turning into an awkward, flirty face only he can make work. “Besides, after we get married you can spoil me all the time.”

Quentin knows he would.

He became Peter’s pawn the second they met, he knows it’ll only become more intense if they get married.

That’s why he has to stop this _now._ After that, it could be too late.

They get out of the car and get their (very few) things. They head towards the reception office, Quentin facing Peter as they get closer to the desk.

“Double or twin?”

Peter is tempted to ask for twin, just so he has the possibility to choose in case the prospect of sharing a bed with Quentin becomes too much. 

He decides against it, though.

They’re getting married, after all. Married couples share a bed, more often than not.

“Double.”

He thinks he sees some _conflict_ on Quentin’s eyes, but he figures it may be just the weird lighting in the place making him see things. 

“This way, Pete.”

He follows Quentin close behind as they walk towards their room immediately after getting the key. 

Once they’re there, Quentin lets him in first. 

What he sees isn’t surprising at all, and it isn’t too much, but he still takes a moment to glance around.

“What do you think?” Quentin asks, closing the door behind them.

Peter turns around to face his boyfriend, a smile slowly creeping on his face. “It’s perfect!” Quentin arches an eyebrow. “I mean it: there’s a bed, a shower and you. It’s all I need.”

Again that weird look on Quentin’s eyes. Maybe he’s just tired.

“It’s cozy.” He says, also glancing around. 

Something comes to Peter’s mind then, hoping to cheer Quentin up a bit.

“Hey, wanna watch a movie? I brought my computer.” 

Quentin lays down on the bed unceremoniously, a content sigh escaping his mouth. He nods.

“Okay, but I may drift off.” He comments, as Peter looks for the laptop in the mess in his suitcase. “Driving for so long is exhausting.”

Peter stops his movements and looks at Quentin apologetically, but his boyfriend merely shakes his head. 

Once he’s managed to fish the laptop out of his backpack, he goes to sit on the chair by the small table, but that would be really uncomfortable and inconvenient both for him and for Quentin. 

The bed, on the other hand...

“Can I-? Never mind.”

Intrigued at Peter’s sudden shyness (and hoping there’s a breakthrough), Quentin sits up. 

“What?”

Peter avoids his gaze as he answers: “I was wondering if I could lay down with you.”

The sudden rush of both disappointment and affection Quentin feels at his words give him whiplash for a moment, but he recovers quickly.

“You do realise we’re sharing this bed, right?”

“Is that a yes?”

Quentin smiles.

“Come here.“

* * *

Nat seems thoughtful for a moment, but ultimately shakes her head. Tony has to resist the urge to yell again. He’s been doing that a lot recently, and honestly, he doesn’t really enjoy doing so.

“I don’t know, maybe we should let Beck handle it.”

“Why? It’s brilliant. Pete won’t suspect a thing.”

Again, the look on Natasha’s face tells him he still hasn’t won her over.

“I think he will. It’ll be too much of a coincidence. And if he notices Beck is trying to bring him back he will stop trusting him.”

“Great, then they break up.”

“Then Peter runs away from him too and he’s wandering around the country all alone.” She corrects.

_Fucking logical thinking_.

He wishes Steve was back already to help him with Nat. He’s always been far more persuasive than he is... _That’s it!_

Time to play a Steve.

“It’s a huge leap of faith, I know.” Tony says, doing his best to make his voice sound imperative yet gentle. It’s weird, it doesn’t feel like he should be allowed to use it. Nat seems to be listening, though. That’s good. “But it’s our best shot.”

When she turns her back at him, Tony fears he lost this battle. He’s on a streak lately. One would think he’s getting used to it. 

It still sucks.

Except Nat looks at him again, still skeptical but open to try.

“I’ll text Beck.” 

And just like that, she leaves the room. Tony barely has a second to cherish victory before Happy walks in.

“The kids are here.”

Tony cracks his knuckles. 

Time for round two.

“Bring them in.”

* * *

When Quentin comes back from the vending machine, he sees Peter sitting at the edge of the bed, eyes closed and relaxed expression.

“Pete?”

He opens his eyes to look at Quentin, who sits down beside him. He rests his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, and somehow, it feels like it was meant to be.

“I’m really happy we’re here, you know?”

Quentin does his best not to tense up. With Peter so close, he’ll definitely realise something’s up.

“Yeah?”

He feels Peter nod, still close.

“We were always hiding. It’s nice being together without having to worry about who’s around or if our alibis add up.” He puts enough distance between them to look at the sea in his boyfriend’s eyes. “Thank you for everything, Quentin. It means a lot.”

Pushing past the guilt, frustration, and the bitterness, Quentin manages to conjure a smile por Peter.

“Anything for you.”

Peter blushes just as much as he smiles, and Quentin definitely doesn’t expect it when he tackles him into a hug. 

And he definitely doesn’t expect it when Peter curls up on top of him, as if trying to keep Quentin in and the whole world out.

“How did I get so lucky?” He then whispers, and Quentin would feel guilty once again if it wasn’t overshadowed by how in love he is.

He presses a kiss on Peter’s temple as he answers: “I ask myself that same question every moment we spend together.”

Peter looks at Quentin, and time stops.

“Good things happen to good people.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

Despite the circumstances, Peter’s smile still entrances Quentin. 

His heart stops and speeds up at the same time, he shivers but his hands feel all sweaty, he’s dizzy but more grounded than ever.

It’s appropriate, in a way, given how conflicted everything about Peter has made him feel since day one.

And he must have been staring, because his boyfriend seems embarrassed.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Quentin replies, shaking his head softly. “I like your smile, you know?”

Peter pecks his cheek.

“I like yours too.”

Quentin isn’t sure what takes over him, but before he can process what he’s doing he’s turned them around and he has Peter pressed against the bed, kissing him slowly but surely. He momentarily worries he may be getting a bit too into it, but Peter doesn’t seem to be against it, so he doesn’t stop.

Instead, he moves his lips so that he’s kissing Peter’s cheek. Then his nose. Then his jaw. Then his ear.

His neck.

Peter jolts, and Quentin pulls away, worried he may have _definitely_ gotten too excited now.

“Pete?”

He’s blushed, his eyes are glassy, and he looks so in love it’s almost painful for his boyfriend.

_“Tickles.”_ Peter offers as an explanation, and Quentin laughs in relief. 

What would he do without his Peter?

No, that’s not right.

What _will_ he do without his Peter?

He pecks his lips.

“I love you.”

“Really?” Peter asks, teasingly.

Quentin moves to kiss his neck again, earning a giggle.

“Yeah.”

This time, is Peter who kisses him.

“I love you too.”

All of a sudden, Quentin feels like shit.

Peter trusts him pretty much _blindly,_ he allows himself to be so vulnerable around him...

And yet there he is, his boyfriend, trying to figure out a way to make him want to go back home, while at the verge of giving up and just straight up call the Stark-Rogers’ to come find them. He wishes he could spare that confrontation, but he has no idea how to. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to turn the situation around without some outside help.

Quentin sits up, just enough so that not a single part of him is touching Peter. He doesn’t feel like that’s appropriate right now.

“Let’s get changed, okay? It’s getting late and I’m not on the young side anymore.”

Peter giggles as he stands up and goes to his suitcase for a change of clothes.

“You’re not that old, it’s just you were driving all day.”

“If you say so.” Quentin gives in. He expects Peter to make another comment, but he’s suddenly gone quiet. “What is it?”

“N-nothing.” Then, he turns around, holding a leather binder. “I brought the portfolio pa gave me. I couldn’t leave it behind.”

Peter sits down in the chair, and starts going through the paintings, his eyes becoming watery. 

“Can I see?”

When he nods, Quentin stands up and kneels beside him, placing a hand on his tight for comfort.

They don’t say anything as Peter goes through the paintings of his family, many landscapes and some objects Quentin asumes had been important in his boyfriend’s life.

But then, something catches his eye, and he has a feeling it’s important he asks.

“Who is she?”

“Aunt May.” Peter answers, small, sad sort of smile appearing on his lips. “I told you about her, remember? She taught me to dance for homecoming, Happy’s had a crush on her for as long as I can remember, she always knows what to say...”

Quentin nods, lightbulb lighting up over his head.

“How long has it been since you last saw her?”

“About four months. I really miss her.” Peter goes to wipe his cheeks with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and then hands the portfolio to Quentin. “You can keep looking, I’ll take a shower.”

“Alright.” Quentin nods, standing up at the same time as Peter, and placing a kiss on his forehead. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Peter nods and takes some clothes with him into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

And Quentin decides to do something.

Maybe he won’t have to retort to plan B just yet.

He turns on his phone, and he’s bombarded with missing calls, voicemails and (threatening) messages from the Stark-Rogers.

Mostly Tony.

Only Tony.

But what catches his eye is a message from Natasha.

He goes to read it, and it falls into place.

If they were both thinking the same thing, it must be their best chance, right?

He sends a short reply:

_On it_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next Chekhov’s gun wasn’t really that teased along the story except from his chapter, so I’m sorry if it feels like it came out of nowhere. I struggled™️ with this one.  
Anyway, I’m super excited and super nervous for the next chapter. It’s one scene, but trust me, it’s long. It’s emotional. It’s probably the chapter I’ve struggled the most with. Also chapter 14.  
Chapter 13 will be up on Wednesday. Any guesses of what may go down?  
As always, any and all comments are more than welcome <3


	13. In touch

A couple of hours go by. 

Peter has been quiet, lost in thought. Quentin would’ve attempted to talk to him if not because he is pretty much in the same state. 

Plus, he is really nervous about the plan. He knows he’s _criminally_ underestimating Peter, but he hopes he doesn’t immediately put two plus two together.

They need as much time as they can get to work.

As if on queue, Peter stands up, portfolio precariously on his hands, and his phone falls from its pocket folder to the table.

Quentin looks up from his suitcase. He’d been pretending to be putting everything in order, as if he’d brought more than a few items to make it through the day.

“What was that?”

Peter grabs the phone. He doesn’t look puzzled, which is a relief to Quentin.

“My phone. I forgot I put it there.”

But he does look conflicted. _Sad._

Quentin knows what’s on his mind, and he decides to push it.

“You wanna turn it on.”

Peter looks at him, now guilty. 

“Kinda.” He admits, before shaking his head and grabbing his suitcase to put the portfolio back. “I know I shouldn’t, though.”

Quentin shrugs.

“If you want to, then go for it. Nothing bad’s gonna happen.”

At first, he thinks he sees some suspicion on Peter’s face, but it disappears almost as quickly as it showed up.

Peter nods nervously as he turns on the phone, staring at the black screen, waiting for _anything_ or _nothing._

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting.

He doesn’t know why he wanted to turn on the phone in the first place.

Curiosity, most likely.

_This was a bad idea._

Then, the phone is on, and hundreds of notifications start coming in. 

“Texts from my friends and my dads.” He explains, once he notices Quentin staring at him expectantly. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect to get anything, you know?“ 

Then, somethings catches his eye. 

“Something wrong?”

“May called.”

The way Peter looks at Quentin, as if asking him what he’s supposed to do, makes his guts twist with guilt. But he has to take the chance.

“Do you want to talk to her?” Peter nods, only a bit hesitantly. “Then go for it. It’s okay.”

Even if something in his mind screams at him not to call, he decides to do it.

He's missed May.

And if she called, that must be the Universe trying to tell him something, right?

Maybe she’ll tell him exactly what he needs to hear.

She picks up right away.

It’s as if she was expecting him to.

“_Peter?_”

He feels much better and much worse just by hearing her voice.

“Hi, May.” He greets, feeling a smile creep on his face even if he doesn’t feel like smiling at all. “Sorry I didn’t pick up earlier.”

“It’s okay, I just wanted to talk. I miss my boy.”

May’s voice is so warm and sweet and it reminds Peter of his dads _so much_.

And it feels like he’s being punched.

Or stabbed.

Maybe both.

“I miss you too.”

“So, how are things going over there? How’s the high-school-senior life treating you?”

Peter shrugs awkwardly.

Something inside of him wants to tell May everything, start to finish, and ask for advice. But he doesn’t want to make her hate him. _Not her too_. 

“It’s been okay. It can’t be as cool as Italy, though.”

“Oh, nonsense. The only reason why I’m still here is because I don’t know when I’ll be able to visit my family again, and you know how important family is to me.”

Okay, that was definitely _low._

May couldn’t have possibly meant to twist Peter’s heart with her words, but she did.

Of course he knows how important family is to her.

So it’s to him.

At least, it used to be.

“Speaking of, how are your parents?” 

_Not a clue. _

_They’ve been fighting a lot lately, probably because of me. I stress them out a lot these days. Did you know I ran away after making them fight? They’re probably divorced by now_.

“Peter?”

Right, he has to _actually_ answer.

He can’t say what’s on his mind, though.

“They’re great. They’re doing great.” Peter doesn’t expect his voice to break, yet, he isn’t surprised when it happens. He only hopes it goes unnoticed by May.

But it doesn’t, and he didn’t really think it would.

“Are you okay, sweetie? You sound upset.”

He pressed his lips together to prevent a sob from escaping his mouth.

“I’m fine.” He manages to say after a moment. “I just- I gotta go now.”

He doesn’t really want to end the call, but it was such a bad idea to begin with.

“Aw, alright.” Even with the mask of playfulness, he can hear May’s concern. It makes him want to throw up. “Keep having fun, but also being a good kid, okay?”

Peter almost hangs up right then because of how _awful_ the call’s making him feel.

Still, he tells May what she wants to hear:

“Okay.”

“Good. Tell your parents I said hi.”

_I can’t._

That thought reminds Peter of the fight with his parents, and suddenly everything seems worse.

“I will.” He takes a deep breath, builds up courage, before adding: “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie. Ciao!”

He hangs up.

It’s so weird. It feels like he’s frozen in place, the only warmth in his body coming from the tears running down his cheeks. 

His mind suddenly takes him to the night before, and the one before that, and so on and on. 

Looking at it all now, Peter doesn’t understand _why_ he let it get so bad.

It’s Quentin’s voice that manages to take him out of his trance.

“Are you okay?”

Peter purses his lips.

“Yeah, no, yeah. It’s just-“

His phone falls from his hand to the ground, and it’s like his strength goes down with it.

The effect is similar to an alarm going off, somehow. Once it’s on, it’s loud and annoying and while people figure out what to do it’s all _chaos._

Peter is all loud sobs, a cascade of tears, hiccups.

Annoying.

Loud.

Lets you know something’s wrong.

As if you couldn’t already tell by the fire consuming everything before it.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, baby. Shhh, you’re okay.”

Peter didn’t really register Quentin’s arms wrapped around him until now, but he takes in the comfort as best as he can and tries to control his crying.

Only enough so that the feeling of running out of air is only emotional.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He can’t see it, but the momentary silence let’s him know there’s a frown on Quentin’s face.

“What are you-?”

Peter pulls enough distance to look at him in the eyes.

“When we met you were one of the most honest people I’ve ever known, but I made you hide so many important things from so many people and I keep making you lie and hide and- And I turned you into someone you’re not. I’m sorry.”

At one point, he felt like his relationship with Quentin was turning him into a better version of himself. More confident. Spontaneous. _Joyful._

He hadn’t realised how wrong he’d gotten it until now that he said it out loud.

Except Quentin seems to disagree.

“You didn’t turn me into anything. I made questionable choices, yes, but _I_ made them. You always gave me a way out, but I decided to stick by your side, again and again and again. And I will continue to do so.”

When he goes to wipe his tears from his face, Peter pushes him away.

“Why?” His boyfriend looks so lost it makes him feel like the unintended damage is much worse than he imagined. “Quentin, I don’t deserve that. I don’t know how to appreciate that.” An alarm going off. Now yelling. Now desperate. Trying to save a life. “My parents stuck by my side through thick and thin since forever and I decided to push them off a cliff for no reason. What makes you think I won’t do the same to you? Why would you willingly stick with me?”

Quentin takes a tentative step closer.

And closer.

_And closer._

He’s breathing Peter’s air again, but he doesn’t have it in him to push him away once more.

“Because I love you,_ so much_, nothing you could ever do will push me away.” Quentin answers, vulnerable and honest as ever. “And I can only imagine how much _stronger_ the feeling is for your parents. They may be hurt, yes, but they’ll always stay by your side. We can still turn this around if we just go back.”

Peter immediately refuses, shaking his head.

“They’ll want to keep us apart.”

Quentin sighs and places a kiss on Peter’s forehead.

“One problem at a time.”

“But-“

“Pete, come on-“

“No! Don’t try to patronise me! Unless we can find a solution to all of this we’re not going anywhere!”

Unsurprisingly, Quentin remains calm at Peter’s attitude. 

Yet another reason why he shouldn’t stick with him. 

Yet another reason why Peter’s thankful he does.

“I need you to understand something: there’s no possible win-win situation here. I’m sorry, but there just isn’t. We made some really poor decisions to get to where we are, and we had to pay the price at some point. This is it.”

Peter doesn’t know how to argue with that. Probably because there’s no way to do that.

“I don’t want to break up.” It’s all he manages to say, voice small and weak. Almost like a whisper. 

Like yet another secret between them.

“Neither do I. But by the look of things, that’s the turn this has to take for you to get your life back.”

“What about you?” Peter asks, suddenly realising that’s yet another reason why they can’t come back. “Let’s figure something else out.”

“We can try, but-“

“Quentin, please! Please! We’ve been so happy this past few months, we can’t just throw it all away!”

Quentin locks his eyes with Peter’s.

Brown meets blue.

Somehow, it feels like a goodbye.

“Part of the journey is the end.”

A sour, bitter kiss is shared, but it’s also the sweetest and most precious exchange in their relationship.

They step away. They’re basically on opposite sides of the room now, but neither dares to close the space between them again. 

Neither would be strong enough to pull away again.

Peter is ready to get to bed, until he remembers the neglected phone on the floor. He goes to pick it up.

Something clicks on his mind, but he can’t be sure.

Without standing up, he looks at his suitcase. 

Then back at his phone.

He stands up and sets the phone on the table harshly, creating a strong, hollow sound that attracts Quentin’s attention.

“You did this.”

He now remembers picking up his phone and throwing it into his suitcase before anything else, as soon as he decided what he was gonna do.

It was under all his clothes. It _was._

The guilt agitating the water on Quentin's eyes only further confirms that. 

_“Why?”_

Quentin dares to look frustrated. As if he has a right to do so.

“I want to get you back before you regret leaving, and I figured I could use some help.”

It’s really easy to read between nonexistent lines when you’re upset.

“You just want to get rid of me.”

Now, Quentin looks offended as much as he looks frustrated.

“Peter, you are the best thing that has happened to me. I want us to be together, but not like this.”

Peter ignores the first statement and favours the last one, for the sake of argument.

But also because he feels so betrayed all soft spots are numb.

“Like what? Like we don’t have to look over our shoulder every other second?”

Quentin shakes his head.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing? What do you think is gonna happen when we reach Vegas? This whole mess will just fade away? It won’t. Your parents won’t stop looking for you until they find you.”

“So let them find me! I won’t go back to New York! And they won’t be able to take me with them because we’ll be married!”

“Do you really want to do that?”

Somehow, it feels like that question is Quentin’s worst betrayal.

“_You don’t?_” Peter asks, deflating, as he feels all his strength leaving him. Not like he had much left by now.

“I’ve had many partners thorough my life, but I only had two parents. I never loved anyone the way I loved my parents, and I’m sure they never stopped loving me, even after I left home.” He can’t be sure, being as distanced as they are, but Peter is almost positive he sees Quentin’s eyes tearing up. “You’ll meet someone, Peter. Now it may feel like us breaking up would tear you apart (believe me, I know that feeling), but the truth is it _won’t._ You know what actually would? Losing your parents, even if they’re there. Knowing your relationship is broken even if no one is missing.”

It’s suddenly too much.

Peter grabs his phone and throws it into his suitcase, followed by the portfolio.

With mechanical movements, caused by self-imposed numbness, he closes the suitcase and grabs it.

“Where are you going?”

Peter doesn’t look at Quentin as he answers, while heading to the door: _“Away.”_

In the blink of an eye, Quentin is standing in front of him.

“You’re not.”

Peter tries to open the door, but he fails to. It’s as if Quentin could read his movements.

“Get out of the way.”

“No.”

Peter tries to push Quentin out of the way with no success. 

Then he tries again.

He tries to open the door.

Nothing works.

“If I’m so replaceable and irrational just let me go! What is it to you, anyway!?”

Peter knows it’s pretty much useless.

He’s smaller and weaker than Quentin, he knows he can’t win out of sheer force.

But he can try.

Maybe he’ll make Quentin see he’s not worth the struggle.

“You can either calm down or stand here hating me for as long as you want, because I’m not letting you go.” Quentin states, crossing his arms.

That’s enough.

“Move!”

Peter doesn’t think of what he’s doing.

He takes a step back and throws the suitcase. 

It doesn’t hit Quentin, but it _could have_, and the realisation of what he did makes Peter fall to the ground.

Truth is, he’s _lost_ and _disoriented_ and his emotions are all over the place, like the clothes that fell from his suitcase after it hit the ground.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he never does.

But he knows this isn’t right. Any of it.

“I’m sorry.” He apologises, hugging his legs and hiding his face in his knees.

Quentin kneels beside him and kisses his hair as he caresses his back.

“It’s fine. It’s alright.”

Peter looks at him.

“We should go back.”

Quentin nods, small, encouraging smile spreading on his face, clouded only by a bit of sadness.

“I’ll take you home tomorrow, okay?” Quentin places a kiss on Peter’s temple after he nods. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

They stand up and head to the bed, deciding to ignore the mess left on the floor. 

They can clean up in the morning.

Still, Peter freezes looking at it for a moment.

He’d never wanted to actually hurt Quentin, but he was so desperate for an escape he didn’t even think about it.

He has a tendency to do that, it seems.

When he’s back on his senses, Quentin’s already laid down. 

Peter had expected to be shy, but he still feels kinda numb from everything. 

No, that’s not right. 

He does feel _unsure._

He goes to take the unoccupied side of the bed, but only sits down after gazing at Quentin questioningly. 

Quentin smiles, signalling for Peter to get close. It takes everything in him not to sigh in relief.

After a moment, they’re laying together, Peter’s head on Quentin’s chest as he runs his fingers through the chocolate curls and presses a kiss to his forehead.

He turns off the light, and when he looks back at Peter, he’s already looking at him.

Something in them wants to tell him something, but he doesn’t think he can decipher it.

“What is it?”

“This is our first and last night together, right?”

He doesn’t understand why the question seemed more hopeful than bitter (he doesn’t share the sentiment), but he confirms the statement.

“Yeah.”

Peter lifts his head from Quentin’s chest and gets impossibly closer. 

So much that his lips brush with Quentin’s as he asks:

“Would you make love to me?”

Quentin sits up, being imitated by the other soon after.

“What?”

Peter seems uneasy by his response, but he doesn’t seem like he’s gonna back off any second.

“You were my first everything, basically. I think it would be fitting if you were my first time too.”

“Peter, you know I would do anything for you, but this is more complicated than that.” Quentin answers, caressing the youngest’s cheek. He isn’t crying anymore. That’s good. “I don’t want you to feel like we have to do this or-“

Peter places his hand on top of the one on his cheek, looking into the blue eyes so deeply it’s like he can read his soul.

“Please, Quentin.”

The thing is, Quentin would happily read it out for him.

And he gives in, so, _so easily._

It shouldn’t be morally possible for him to concede without fighting, but he never can. 

Not when it comes to Peter.

“If you ever change your mind let me know, okay?”

The smile on Peter’s face just further confirms to Quentin that he was worth every risk he ever took.

“Okay.”

Their eyes lock for a moment before their lips do.

As they kiss, Quentin slowly moves them so that he’s on top of Peter, who’s now laying on his back. 

Quentin goes to kiss Peter’s neck, but his giggles stop him almost immediately. 

“Still ticklish?” He asks, lips brushing against his cheek.

“Yeah.” Peter nods, smiling softly at his boyfriend. “Sorry.”

Quentin shakes his head as he brushes the brown curls out of Peter’s face with his hand.

“It’s fine. I’ll just be careful of where I kiss you.”

They kiss on the lips once again, Quentin’s free hand slowly caressing under Peter’s shirt as he throws his arms around his neck. 

The undressing process is as awkward and tender as their relationship has always been.

Peter is shy yet eager, and truth be told, so is Quentin. 

If it’s gonna be their only time together, they're gonna make it count_._

So Quentin makes it a point to caress every inch of Peter’s skin, to place kisses over every scar and birthmark, to look at the body beneath him like the _treasure_ it is.

Peter is on the same page.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of Quentin at any second, taking in every aspect of his body.

His hair, his scars, his muscles. He’s warm, too, and Peter can’t keep his hands to himself after the first touch.

But it doesn’t feel like enough for neither of them.

They take it slow, though. 

They want to make it last.

So Quentin starts prepping Peter almost agonisingly slow, taking in every micro-reaction from him and hoping that if he focuses in the moment strongly enough it will stay on his mind forever. 

Peter’s surprised that he doesn’t feel shy in the least.

He doesn’t try to muffle the sounds Quentin’s causing with his fingers or his kisses.

He’s gonna enjoy this thoroughly, no restrictions. 

So, he doesn’t even have to think twice of his answer when Quentin asks for his consent once again. 

The image of his _absolutely gorgeous_ boyfriend taking place between his legs is almost enough to make Peter come, and it is definitely enough to make him whine in anticipation.

Peter runs his hands up and down Quentin’s arms as he goes inside of him. 

The sensation is strong, vivid.

Overwhelming, in a way. 

But that's just what makes it so perfect.

Neither can control their moans once the thrusts start.

Even with the slow beginning movements, Peter feels a bit of pain, but it’s overshadowed by how _good_ it feels having Quentin inside him.

Peter’s legs wrap tightly around Quentin’s middle, succeeding in bringing the man even closer as he starts going faster.

Now, he’s supported only by his elbows as he thrusts into Peter.

He takes the opportunity to caress his flushed face as the youngest runs his fingers through his hair.

“You’re perfect, Peter.” Quentin whispers, moving to his boyfriend’s ear so that his words are loud and clear. 

“So are you.” Peter replies almost right away. “I love you.”

Quentin places a kiss on Peter’s collarbone. 

“I love you too.”

The thrusts are growing faster and faster, as well as erratic.

Even before neither can say it, they know they’re getting close.

And even with how much they’d been trying to drag it, it’s been such an intense experience for both they can’t make it last much longer.

“Q-quentin...” Peter moans, caressing his boyfriend’s chest in time with his thrusts.

“I got you.” Quentin says, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist, definitely erasing all distance between them. “_I got you._“

Quentin’s heart aches as Peter comes with the sweetest moan, and all it takes are a couple more thrusts for him to come as well.

They don’t move for a while.

Peter’s legs are slightly shaking, still around Quentin, whose breathing he can feel on the palms of his hands, still pressed against the hairy chest.

He feels Quentin’s arms loosen up around him, but he’s not ready for it to be officially over.

“Can we stay like this a bit longer?” He asks in a whisper, still keeping the world away.

Quentin nods, and places a last, innocent peck on his lips.

“Anything you want, sweetheart.”

Tears begin to form on Peter’s eyes, but he closes them and sighs in contentment.

There’s so much he wants to say, so much he wants to do.

But their time left is limited, and he really doesn’t want to spoil it with more crying or arguing.

Instead, he settles for two words to summarise everything he’s feeling.

Everything he's felt about Quentin since they met.

“_Thank you._”

And if Quentin’s arms tighten around him, he doesn’t say a word about it. 

He takes it all in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that sex scene wasn’t all that strong and I’m truly sorry if it disappointed you but honestly I'm not a fan of graphic smut if it isn’t on a PWP type of story.  
We’re near the end, how are we feeling? I want to know your every thought on this story, good or bad or awful. It’s important for growth and improvement <3  
Now, I wasn’t really gonna say anything about this but I’m really nervous so here goes nothing (And I’m sorry for annoying you): I’m taking my first college admission exam on Tuesday and while I’ve studied my ass off I could still use some outside motivation, so if you could wish me luck it would mean the world to me <3  
Chapter 14 will be up on Wednesday, have a good week!


	14. Sunrise

They leave the room pretty early in the morning, not a word exchanged between them.

Words aren’t necessary at all. Just knowing the other is still there is enough comfort.

They spend the entire way back to New York in silence, with their fingers intertwined and Peter laying his head on Quentin’s shoulder.

They’re feeling unexpectedly calm, uneasiness not making itself known until they’re only a few blocks away from the Stark-Rogers’ residence.

Unsurprisingly, the pair is already waiting for them when they arrive. 

Peter looks at Quentin one last time before getting out of the car, baggage in hand.

All courage he’d been building up before evaporates once he’s actually in front of his parents.

They don’t look as angry as he expected them to, but he’s still weary. 

“I’m really sorry.” He says, making it a point to look at their eyes with every word. “I-I know what I did was wrong. Everything. I don’t know how to fix this, but- But I wanna try if you let me.”

Steve gives him a small, comforting smile.

“We want to try too.”

“And we’re sorry too.” Tony adds, shrugging.

Peter can feel tears pickling on his eyes, and he lets them.

He knows there’s still a discussion in the horizon, but for the time being, he feels too relieved to worry about that.

“Can I- Can I hug you, guys?” He asks, a bit hesitant. “I really missed you.”

He’s missed them for months now. He doesn’t know how it could’ve gone unnoticed before.

Tony uncrosses his arms and opens them.

“Come here, champ.”

He doesn’t have to say it twice.

The second Peter feels the two pairs of arms around him he crumbles. He’s hiccuping and probably staining his dad’s shirt with snot, but he couldn’t care less. 

He’s so happy he’s home he doesn’t know if he will ever stop crying.

It must’ve been a while before Steve pulls away from the hug, but it feels like it’s been only a moment. Peter immediately looks at him, ready to ask him to stay.

But he’s already walking towards Quentin, who’s still sitting inside his car. He’s probably waiting for the family to walk inside the house, to go full cycle.

Before Peter can ask what Steve is doing, Tony calls for his attention by breaking the hug.

“Why don’t you take that to your room, bug?” He asks, signalling towards the suitcase. 

Peter’s first instinct is to refuse, but he sees the exhaustion on his dad’s eyes, the relief, the sadness, the anger. 

He nods and walks inside the house, looking over his shoulder before closing the door to see Steve coming back to Tony, closely followed by Quentin.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” He greets, after clearing his throat in a kinda useless attempt to make his voice sound not too tense.

“It’s nice seeing you again, Beck.” Tony says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I imagined next time we got to talk you’d be behind bars. I held onto that thought these past days, it was kinda comforting.” 

Steve shakes his head. 

“We want to thank you for joining Peter on his little adventure. And for bringing him back home.”

Just as they expected, Quentin seems completely blindsided by this. 

“He’s a smart kid, but not the street kind of smart.” Tony explains. “The thought of him being on his own out there... I trust you took care of him, and I thank you for that.” It takes everything in him to say it, but he does. Quentin can tell he’s restraining all his emotions, and he’s thankful for that.

“So we want to invite you to have dinner with us tonight. As a thank you and also to talk things out.”

Quentin blinks for a moment, evidently still pretty surprised. But as soon as his mind registers this is actually happening, he nods.

“I would be honoured to join you. And I really appreciate the opportunity.”

“You better.” Tony huffs. “It’s probably one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.”

Steve sighs in defeat before looking at Quentin again.

“Does eight work for you?”

“It’s perfect.”

They hear the main door of the house open, and Tony rushes to wrap things up. 

“Well, see you later.”

Quentin, whose eyes had wandered to the door, go back to Tony.

“Right. Excuse me.”

He glances towards the door briefly before turning around and walking towards his car.

“Did you mean that?” 

The husbands turn to face their son, who’s at the doorframe. 

“Yeah, why else would we say so?” Tony says, matter-of-factly.

A small smile spreads on Peter’s lips.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank us yet.” Steve warns him before signaling inside the house, and once the door’s closed, the three of them head to the living room in complete silence.

Peter sits right across his parents.

He’d be lying if he said he isn’t intimidated, but he knows this was a long time coming. Besides, he understands the importance of a heart to heart now more than ever.

They sit there in tense silence for a moment, all trying to sort their words out, until Tony speaks, looking at his son, eyes drilling into him as if analysing every single detail on his face. 

“What made you think running away like that was reasonable?”

The restrained anger in his voice makes Peter feel incredibly small, and he’s pretty sure his throat just closed because of how intimidated he is, but he pushes past it to speak.

“I knew it wasn’t reasonable, but didn’t know what else to do. You seemed to hate me for everything I told you and-“

“We could never hate you.” Steve rushes to clarify. “We were shocked, which made us react poorly, but we’ll never stop loving you. It’s important you understand that.”

Painfully enough, Peter seems surprised at Steve’s words, but he nods regardless.

“Why did you hide the whole photography thing from us?” Tony asks, after he’s given their son a moment to breathe. “We would have supported you.”

They think they see some shame darken Peter’s eyes, but they aren’t completely sure.

“I know... And I love you, but sometimes I feel like you’re suffocating me with how much you intervene in my projects. And they’re mine. I want to make my own mistakes and learn from them and- Well, I did that in class. And when I practiced.” Peter looks down at his lap before mumbling: “It was fun being the only person demanding something from me.”

The husbands exchange a look. As much as Peter’s words hurt, they know he’s right.

“We both grew up a very lonely way, I guess we wanted to turn it around with you. We may have overdone it without meaning to.” Steve admits, and he sees some of the tension on his son’s shoulders release. He was probably expecting yet another argument, and the thought makes his heart break. 

“Still, you’re smarter than this, Peter.” Tony continues, implicitly demanding an answer. 

“I was scared you were going to make me quit.”

“Why?” 

“Photography isn’t really the kind of thing you expected from me, is it?”

“Well, no. But it’s not disappointing, neither.”

“Besides, your old man here is one hell of an artist, don’t you know that?”

Peter smiles, ever so slightly, but it’s enough to soothe the tension in the room, if only enough so that being together doesn’t become unbearable.

“Yeah.”

Once again, they sit in silence, all lost in thought. 

Watching Peter fidget with his fingers, Steve and Tony exchange a look.

They don’t really want to make their son feel worse, but there’s still something they need to clear up.

“It’ll be a while before we trust you again.” Steve says, trying to soften his voice so that the statement isn’t as harsh.

Peter looks at him, soft pout on his lips, but he nods.

“I get it.”

“We’ll need to establish some rules, too.” Tony adds, crossing his arms. “But we can discuss that later.”

“Why don’t you show us some of your photos in the meantime?” Steve suggests, and Peter immediately beams up, only a bit weary.

“Really?” His parents nod, and he stands up right away. “Okay! Yeah, sounds great.” He heads to the hallway. “I’ll go get my camera.”

Tony looks at Steve with narrowed eyes.

“Did we buy him a camera?”

“Peter-“

“It’s Quentin’s.” He answers, stopping dead on his tracks and turning to face his dads. “Well, it was. He- It was a gift.”

It takes everything in Tony not to start some drama again.

“Get that camera before I combust.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Tony sighs after about ten minutes of watching his son squirm nervously on his seat.

“Honestly, kid, can you calm down? We won’t murder him.”

“Do you promise?”

“We’ll be on our best behaviour.” Steve assures, before Tony can make a sarcastic comment that wouldn’t help with Peter’s nerves at all.

And then, JARVIS’ voice fills the tense silence.

“Masters, Mr. Beck has entered the perimeter.”

“Can I get the door?” Peter asks right away, already getting ready to jump out of his seat and rush to the door.

“Fine.” Tony gives in. Peter does exactly what he seemed like he was gonna do. “Don’t get too excited with the greetings!”

Peter opens the door, and suddenly he feels like he’s drowning as much as he feels like he can finally breathe.

“Hi.” He greets. He would’ve much rather just hug Quentin, but he’s so scared of what may happen within the next few hours he doesn’t really want to remind himself of how much he enjoys the man’s hugs just in case he never gets one again.

“Hi.” Quentin replies, and Peter just knows he’s thinking the same thing.

“This way.”

* * *

Dinner is awkward, but otherwise it’s not so bad. 

Sure, Tony and Steve ask Quentin a lot of questions, but he was expecting that, and so did Peter. 

If you squinted, looking past the tension and unspoken resentment, uncertainty and reluctance, everything had been as lovely as it could’ve, given the circumstances.

Afterwards, the husbands stay in the kitchen and send the other two to the living room, which does nothing but increase the bad feeling in their guts.

It feels like they’re waiting for a verdict.

Peter would comment about it if not before of the lump on his throat that barely allows him to breathe. 

After a few minutes, that feel like hours, Tony enters the room.

He doesn’t look too stern, which must be a good sign.

At least, Peter hopes so.

Desperately.

“Okay, let’s just get this over with:” he states, sitting right on front of Quentin and looking at him straight in the eyes “I don’t want you anywhere near my son. Ever. The only purpose of this dinner was making sure you weren’t an abusive son of a bitch so I didn’t have to press charges.” Peter feels his stomach drop and his heart deflate. By how pale Quentin looks, he must be experiencing a similar kind of sensation. “Good news: I’m feeling generous, so you also get to keep your job.” Tony adds, as casually as if he was talking about the weather, before standing up again. “Say your goodbyes, but make it quick. No PDA.”

He then walks away until he’s standing in the doorway, keeping an eye on the couple as he allows them to part ways.

Peter looks at Quentin, mildly panicking, but he’s already looking at him in equal spirits.

They knew it was coming, though, so they’re both surprised they’re surprised.

With a sigh, Quentin stands up, and Peter imitates him as best as he can, given how weak his legs feel and how his insides have turned to ice.

Just as he takes a deep breath to bid Quentin goodbye, he hears Steve’s voice.

“Are you done?”

Both turn to face the husbands, and they see Steve looking at Tony with an amused expression.

After rolling his eyes, Tony looks at them.

“I had to get my revenge. Quid pro quo, right?” Quentin and Peter exchange a look, far too confused to follow. Tony looks at his employee as he explains: “You made me feel I was losing my son to you, I made you feel you were losing my son to me. We’re even. Let’s shake hands and make it official.”

Tony walks up to Quentin and offers his hand, which the other takes absentmindedly, looking at Peter as if he knew what’s going on.

He doesn’t.

“Pa?”

Steve smiles and leans against the doorway.

“We only wanted to know Beck better, since he’ll probably be around a lot. That’s why we asked him to come.”

Again, Peter and Quentin exchange a look, this time filled with relief and disbelief.

“Also we contacted Peter’s friends who knew about this to confirm we didn’t have to worry.” Tony mentions, and Peter feels far too thankful what he feared the most isn’t happening to feel angry at the invasion of privacy. Besides, he knows it was a necessary evil. “But we do have to establish some ground rules given rebellious tendencies by one of the parties involved.” Tony adds, looking at Peter with a raised eyebrow. 

He feels himself blush.

“Okay.” 

His dad’s eyes go back to Quentin, as he starts spelling out the list of rules.

“Curfew: I want Peter home at twenty three sharp tops, got it?”

Quentin nods effusively.

“No problem.”

“You’re still going to the academy, but we’ll cover the expenses from here.” Steve comments, walking until he’s right beside his husband. Nothing like lecturing their son and his boyfriend together. “We do appreciate your help these past months, Beck.”

“Beck can continue to drop you off and pick you up, but if he has work to do I’ll send Happy.” 

“Okay.”

“We need you to tell us where you’re going whenever you move from one place to another, at least for the time being.” Peter has to fight back a pout, but given by the way Tony huffs, he suspects he wasn’t successful. Steve looks almost apologetic as he says: “We’ll discuss a new dynamic in the future, okay?”

He knows he is in no position to make demands, so he nods.

“Yeah.”

“You’re welcome to come by,” Steve says, looking at Quentin “but, just like Peter’s curfew, time limit is eleven o’clock.”

“But no making out in this house.” Tony immediately adds, pointing a finger at the pair. “And definitely no sex.”

“Tony.” 

“Fine, yes to sex.” Steve shakes his head, equally frustrated and amused. Peter would be too, if he wasn’t so embarrased. “As long as I don’t find out, because if I have another heart attack thanks to you I may love you a bit less.”

Peter is absolutely sure _he_ had a heart attack hearing that.

“Please tell me that’s a figure of speech and I didn’t actually cause you a heart attack.”

Tony shrugs.

“If that helps you fall asleep at night. Also, what I said on Saturday still stands: You’re grounded for a month. You can go to the academy, but otherwise you’re not leaving the house.”

“I guess that’s fair.” Peter accepts, blushing once again.

Given he ran away, he had expected his punishment to be much worse than it seems to be. 

“Once the month is over, all rules we talked about will apply.”

Without thinking it twice, Peter rushes to hug his parents. They seem taken aback, but they don’t push him away. 

“Thank you.” He whispers, hoping that they can tell just how _genuinely_ he means it. Given by the way their arms tighten around him, they know.

And that’s enough for now.

They indulge him (and themselves) for a bit longer before breaking the embrace.

“Okay, it’s getting late. Say your goodbyes, this time for real.”

“Thanks for joining us, Beck.” Steve says, always as mature as his husband isn’t, offering Quentin his hand, which he takes numbly.

“Thanks for having me.”

Tony stays frozen in place, looking at the pair with scrutiny. Steve shoots them an apologetic look before tugging at his husband’s arm until he follows him out of the living room.

“I’ll-I’ll walk you to the door.“ Peter declares, because he doesn’t trust Tony not to be spying on them.

God, they need to work on that trust.

Quentin and him walk outside of the house in complete silence, both still trying to figure out if that whole scene actually happened.

It feels surreal, but it has to be true. 

When their eyes lock, both smile.

And in the blink of an eye, they’re kissing.

It’s not passionate of desperate. In fact, their lips are barely touching, with just enough pressure to confirm that everything it’s happening is in fact _real._

Quentin runs his hands through Peter’s hair to corroborate.

Peter touches Quentin’s beard with the same intention.

They keep kissing over and over again, only ever putting some distance to whisper _I love you_’s barely audible, but that echo through their minds with the strength of a thousand screams.

At some point, they stop kissing, and Peter buries his face in Quentin’s shoulder, while he does the same on the crook of his neck.

Their arms hold the other tightly, afraid to ever let go.

All worries have to come to an end though, and now that they know they still have time, they don’t mind parting ways for the night.

Quentin places a kiss on Peter’s temple before they break the hug.

As they exchange a final smile for the night, Peter feels the butterflies in his stomach come alive once again.

There’s still some tension in the house, and things are definitely still not okay. 

_But they will be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? (and prayers)  
If I'm being honest with you, I struggled with this chapter so effing much. In fact, this version is completely different from the draft I made all the way back to the prologue. I was going for a bittersweet ending, but I decided to lean more towards sweetness. I don't think this version is 100% happy anyway, so I'm pretty pleased.   
So, the epilogue will be up next wednesday. I'm sad this is already pretty much over, but part of the journey is the end.  
I'm already working on a one-shot and a short fic (both Quentin/Peter because I live for this pair), so hopefully it won't be too long before we read each other again.  
Thank you so much for your support all this time <3  
Also thanks to everyone who wished me luck for my exam. I passed (barely), and you definitely played an important part in that


	15. Epilogue

Peter stretches until he hears a crack, and then he lets his shoulders slump. He sighs in contentment as he feels the ache in his back lessen, if only a bit.

“Hey, grandpa.” Someone greets, and he turns to see Ava walking towards him. “Do you need your arthritis medication?”

“Very funny.” Peter says, as he leans against the wall, closely followed by Ava. “My back wouldn’t hurt if my producer hadn’t sent Wade to the art department.”

That happened two days ago, but Peter’s still bitter about it. Even if he does love operating the camera himself, it is heavy as fuck, so he wasn’t thrilled when he realised he’d had to carry the damn thing for most shots.

Though, in retrospective, as the director of photography, he brought it on himself. 

“I told your boyfriend I’d keep an eye on Wade, and so I did.” Ava excuses, crossing her arms. “I couldn’t just stand by watching him trying to get in your pants.”

“He’s just friendly.” Peter argues, even if he knows it isn’t true at all. Wade is definitely trying to win him over, everyone knows that, but he still prefers thinking he’s just a warm person. “He knows I’m not interested and he respects that.”

“Right.” Ava answers, rolling her eyes. “It’s still not my fault your back hurts, though. You should tell Beck to go easy on you next time.”

Peter almost gets dizzy by how quickly he blushes.

“Ava!”

“What?” She laughs, gently using her elbow to push Peter. “Come on, you’ve been together for like four years, don’t act like you’re all pure and innocent.”

It’s true, but she shouldn’t say it.

Also, truth be told, Beck may or may not play a small part in why his back hurts. But there’s no way he’s going to admit it out loud.

“Shut up.” Peter groans, trying to shake the embarrassment. “We should’ve just gotten a cameraman.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job.” Ava pouts, a glint of playfulness in her eyes. Peter sticks his tongue out at her.

“Someone has to, you know you should’ve given us twelve hours to rest in between calls? We could sue.”

Yup, she’d also been assistant director. Making a short-film as students, they didn’t have much resources. But it had been fun, even if the backache blinds Peter’s judgement.

“You’re not suing one of your best friends.” Ava argues, babying her voice at the maximum and batting her eyelashes at him.

“Friendship doesn’t exist in business.” Peter deadpans, squinting his eyes ominously.

As they laugh, a car pulls up in front of them.

“Look, there’s your camera.” Ava comments, as she waves at Quentin. Peter blushes once again, but he tries not to dwell on it.

“Will you come to the party?” Peter asks, as he picks his backpack from the ground. 

Ava shakes her head. “I’m hanging out with my family. This was my last day too, you know?”

Peter rolls his eyes, but still kisses her cheek before heading to the passengers side.

“Have fun, dearest Peter!”

He groans before entering the car.

He shouldn’t have told her about Gwen’s _completely intentional_ miss-interpretation of the abbreviation _DP_ on his call sheet.

Quentin waves at Ava again before taking off. “How was shooting today?” He asks then, grabbing Peter’s hand to kiss over the knuckles.

He immediately feels all the exhaustion fade away.

“So there was this shot in which I had to jump down this stage and then run backwards, right?”

* * *

When they enter the house, they’re welcomed by the sound of a song Peter loves (so what if he likes Taylor Swift? She makes him feel things), and the sight of his family and friends gathered in the living room and the hallway. Judging by the scent, Peter knows there’s pizza, and that’s just the cherry on top of the cake. 

Tightening his grip on Quentin’s hand, he realises everything he loves is right there in front of him.

He smiles, and feels almost impossibly happier when Quentin places a kiss on his cheek.

Tony is the first person to notice they’ve arrived.

“Light of my life!” He greets, and Peter prepares for a hug, only to be left disappointed when his dad embraces Quentin instead.

Peter pouts.

“Rude.”

Tony turns to him as if he’d just realised he’s there.

“Oh, hi, there, kid.”

“Where’s pa?” Peter asks. Even if Steve also loves Quentin, at least he isn’t a teasing asshole about it like Tony.

“He’s somewhere around with BuckyNat talking about that VA slash BARF thing these two greek gods have going on.”

Quentin laughs, and before Peter can order his dad to just _keep it in his pants_, May saves the day.

“There’s my boy!” She says, and, thankfully enough, she hugs Peter. “Congratulations, sweetie.”

Right, that’s why there’s a party.

He just went through his last day of college. 

The thought is equally exciting and petrifying, but he tries not to think much of it.

As of right now, he’ll simply enjoy himself.

“Thanks, May.” 

Then, she glances to his side, and she rushes to hug Quentin.

“Beck! Long time no see.”

Peter frowns.

It’s not been that long, maybe a couple of months.

And okay, he’s used to his dad acting all lovey-dovey with Quentin. They’re friends, after all, and Tony does enjoy teasing Peter. He’s used to that sort of banter.

But this?

This is new.

May _does_ love Quentin, but she’d never been so affectionate before.

Maybe she’s just emotional about Peter finishing college or something.

That’s gotta be it.

“Hey, May.” Quentin greets, seemingly equally as uneasy about the unusual affection as Peter. “How are you?”

May smiles even wider, and goes to grab Quentin’s wrist before turning to Peter.

“Let me borrow him for a bit. Congrats again!”

Quentin only manages a small apologetic smile for his boyfriend before he’s being dragged away by May.

“What just happened?” Peter asks, tilting his head slightly. 

If not because of the very vivid scent of pizza making him hungrier by the second, he’d think he’s dreaming.

“You did keep insisting on how much you needed us to love Beck.“ Tony argues, and Peter feels himself blush.

“That was years ago! And I didn’t mean you had to love him more than you do me.” 

Tony ruffles his hair lightly, and Peter grunts.

“Cheer up, sunshine, you’re still my favourite person.” 

And as much as Peter would love keeping the angry act up, those words make him want to hug his dad.

So he does.

“Alright, go have something to eat. And have fun.”

“You too.”

So, Peter goes to grab some pizza before he heads towards his friends. He notices May brought Quentin to talk along with Happy, Sam, Nat, Bucky and Steve. They all seem pretty enthusiastic, but he figures they’re talking about the project Tony mentioned, so he doesn’t give it much thought.

“Hey, guys!” He greets, sitting down in Ned’s lap, since the whole couch is taken and after a day of shooting he doesn’t feel like sitting on the floor _at all._

“Hey! How’s our dearest Peter doing?” Gwen asks, pinching his cheek. He rolls his eyes.

“Showing you that was a mistake.”

“Yeah, you make those a lot.” MJ says, and Peter can’t help but laugh.

Then, Ned envelops Peter with his arms and starts shaking him with excitement. For once, Peter has enough reflex to grab his plate of pizza before it falls to the floor.

“Dude, you won’t believe what happened at the internship today!”

Ned then goes on a detailed rant about an AI robot he was helping build at SI, and Peter listens attentively. He may not be into tech the same way his best friend is, but he still loves it, and he’s happy to talk about it for hours on end.

Which is what ends up happening.

After Ned’s whole story, Peter started asking questions, then MJ did, then Gwen. Even if she‘s not particularly invested in tech, she’s grown to know a lot about it from years of hanging out with three of the biggest nerds in New York.

The night goes by so smoothly Peter barely notices the passage of time. 

He had a chat with everyone invited, and it was fun. 

Though, oddly as it was, he never managed to catch Quentin alone.

It seemed like he was quite the hit at the party, which Peter didn’t mind, except that he _kinda_ did, because he wanted to spend some time with him as well.

Maybe later.

Ever so slowly, people start leaving. Peter doesn't really notice everyone has left until Quentin drives his friends to their houses.

When he’s back, Peter notices his parents exchange a look.

He allows himself to panic for a moment.

It’s been so long since they’d had an eye conversation at seeing Quentin, he doesn’t know what to think, but not panicking is easy for him. 

He’s learned to trust his parents.

Maybe they just want to have some alone time with Peter now that he’s soon to graduate, right?

“Well, your dad and I are going to our room.” Steve announces, going to give Peter a kiss in the forehead, before turning to Quentin. “You’re welcome to stay in the guest room if you want.”

_Oh, so that’s what it was._

It’s still odd, but Peter is happy about it, so he doesn’t say a word.

“Let me invite you a drink?” Quentin offers, signalling the mini bar, after Steve and Tony are gone. “For old times’ sake.”

“But I didn’t drink, remember?” Peter answers, even if he’s heading to the minibar anyway. “I wasn’t twenty one.”

Quentin smiles as they take a seat.

“Neither was I.”

Peter laughs when his boyfriend winks, and leans to place a kiss on his cheek.

“It’s been over four years.” Quentin says, thoughtfully, as he serves a drink in two small glasses. 

Peter doesn’t remember the name of that specific drink, but he does know it’s his favourite. He rests his head on Quentin’s shoulder as a thank you.

Sometimes he surprises himself because of how strong his feelings for Quentin still are, but he accepts it blissfully. 

At this point, he can’t imagine a life without the butterflies in his stomach.

“Everything has changed so much,” Peter comments, absentmindedly “sometimes I wonder if this is actually what my life has turned into. In the good way.” He rushes to clarify, and his boyfriend laughs fondly. “I’m happy the way things have turned out. Like, super happy.”

“Me too.” Quentin replies, holding Peter hand. “The happiest.” He adds, kissing over each knuckle. “You know, lately I’ve been thinking a lot about that impromptu trip of ours.”

Peter lifts his head from Quentin’s shoulder, surprised at the comment. They hadn’t really talked about that basically ever since it happened.

“Really?”

Quentin nods, moving the glass around the surface of the bar with his free hand.

“I’ve been wondering where we would stand right now if we’d gone through with it.”

Peter smiles.

He’d been wondering as well.

It’s something he’s been thinking about a lot for a few months now, but it never occurred to him to bring it up.

“Well, I’d be drowning in guilt but trying not to show it because I wouldn’t want _my husband_ to worry.” Peter replies, keeping his tone playful, even if he does think that’s how things would be.

“Right, you wanted us to get married.“ Quentin says, absentmindedly.

“Yeah.” Peter nods, looking at his glass as his cheeks turn red.

He takes a sip of his drink, and then looks at Quentin. He still has a thoughtful expression on his face, but this time, he’s looking at Peter.

“To be honest with you, I kind of regret we didn’t make it that far into the trip.” Quentin states, simply as if he was mentioning the name of the drink. “I know it was for the best, but still. If only I’d driven a couple more hours, we would’ve made it and still come back.”

Peter almost doesn’t believe what he’s hearing, and even when he does, he doesn’t believe it’s true.

Not at first.

But Quentin’s voice dripped with honesty and vulnerability, and even if it didn’t, he would never joke about something like that.

So Peter feels compelled to confess: “I felt that way too, but I never said anything because I didn’t want you to feel like I was pushing it or something.”

Quentin arches an eyebrow.

“You didn’t mind when you basically proposed before we took off.”

“I was emotional!” Peter argues, punching his boyfriend’s arm playfully as they laugh.

“I didn’t mind either.” Quentin says, shrugging, as the playfulness starts fading from his expression. He takes a deep breath before he continues: “I’ve been thinking that now it’s the perfect time to go through with it, but properly.” 

Peter freezes in place.

He swears time has stopped.

As well as the rotation of Earth.

And his heart.

But that’s perfect, because it allows him to focus his whole undivided attention on Quentin’s voice.

“We could get married here, surrounded by friends and family. Then, as a honeymoon, we could go on a road trip. Just drive around the country for a couple of weeks, stopping whenever and wherever we feel like it. We could officially live together at my house, get out of this limbo we have going on. It’s getting awkward asking your parents for permission for _sleepovers.”_ A small smile appears on Quentin’s face, but Peter can still see some nervousness through the gesture. “I don’t know, I think it would be a good idea.”

He seems to expect an answer from Peter, but he’s still trying to process everything Quentin just said.

“Are you- Was that- Did you just propose?”

Come to think of it, it would make so much sense. 

Everyone probably knew about this, and that’s why they’d been all over Quentin during the party. 

They probably wanted to know the details, and give some motivational speeches, maybe some threatening ones as well.

Just when Peter begins to wonder if he’s somehow misinterpreting the whole situation, Quentin pulls a small, red velvety box from inside his jacket.

“It depends.” He says, as he opens the box for Peter to see the silver ring inside. “_Do you accept?_”

Peter pauses to think about it, or at least to pretend to do so. He doesn’t want the man, _his Quentin,_ to even suspect the effect he’s had on him. 

He doesn’t want him to know that his eyes make his knees feel like jello.

He doesn’t want him to know that his voice sends shivers up his spine.

He doesn’t want him to know that his kisses make him feel like he’s invincible.

But Quentin knows him so well, he probably knows all that already.

And that’s more than perfect.

When he considers he’s been pondering for long enough not to seem desperate, he nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself for the longest author’s note ever.  
This one was a doozy, but I’m super happy with the result, and I hope you are as well. Crafting an ending is probably the most difficult part of writing a story (at least for me), so I’m really sorry if it didn’t live up to your expectations.   
I wrote like five versions of the epilogue, two of which were set only a year in the future because I wanted to write a bit about May meeting Quentin, but then I was like ‘no, the main issue in this story was Peter’s life decisions’ so I decided to go with the college-oriented type of epilogue. The ending was always the same, though. It feels more like things went full circle, specially with all the callbacks to the prologue. But that’s just my thoughts, what do you think? All comments are more than welcome.   
Speaking of, I would really appreciate it if you could give me some feedback about my writing (style, coherence, flow, character/story development).   
I’m already writing another story (which is even more angsty, I love putting my baby Peter through pain), and I’m super excited to upload the first chapter. It’s super plot heavy though, so it may take a while even if it’s shorter than this one.  
Nevertheless, I hope I’ll see you around then ;)  
I want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all the support you’ve given me and my mess of a story. You made this truly a wonderful experience  
I love you 3000 <3


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